by J. R. Ward
Someone was following her.
Ever since she’d gone back into Rehv’s penthouse, gotten dressed herself, and dematerialized off the terrace after locking up.
Four CranRas bottles went into her cart, and then she headed for the cereal aisle and across to the paper towels and the toilet paper. In the meat department, she picked up a ready-made roasted chicken that looked like it had been taxidermied rather than cooked, but at this point, she just needed some protein she didn’t have to oven-up herself. Then it was steak for her father. Milk. Butter. Eggs.
The only disadvantage to checking out after midnight was that all the U-Scans were closed, so she had to wait behind a guy with cart full of Hungry-Man frozen dinners. As the attendant swept the Salisbury steaks across the scanner, Ehlena stared out the glass storefront wondering whether she was losing her mind.
“You know how to cook these?” the guy asked her as he held up one of the thin boxes.
Evidently, he’d misread her forward fixation as having anything to do with him and was looking for someone to heat his meat, literally: The human’s eyes were hot, and roaming over her, and all she could think of was what Rehvenge would do to the guy.
This made her smile. “Read the box.”
“You could read it for me.”
She kept her voice level and bored-sounding. “Sorry, I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that.”
The human seemed a bit crestfallen as he shrugged and handed his frozen dinner over to the girl behind the cash register.
Ten minutes later, Ehlena rolled her cart out of the electric doors and was greeted by a nasty, slapping cold that made her huddle up in her parka. Fortunately, the cab she’d taken to the store was right where it was supposed to be, and she was relieved.
“You need help?” the cabbie asked through the window he put down.
“No, thanks.” She looked around as she put her plastic bags in the backseat, wondering what in the hell the driver would do if a lesser jumped out from behind a truck and played Bad Santa on their asses.
When Ehlena got in next to the groceries and the driver hit the gas, she searched the eaves of the store and the half dozen cars that were parked as close to the entrance as you could get. Mr. Hungry-Man was farting around in his van, his interior light shining down on his face as he lit a cigarette.
Nothing. Nobody.
She forced herself to settle against the seat and decided she was nuts. No one was watching her. No one was after her—
Ehlena’s hand went to her throat, a sudden dread overtaking her. Oh, God…what if she had what her father suffered from? What if this paranoia was the first of many episodes? What if…
“You okay back there?” the driver asked as he stared into the rearview mirror. “You seem shaky.”
“Just cold.”
“Here, lemme hit you with some hot air.”
As a warm blast blew on her face, she glanced out the back window. No car in sight. And lessers couldn’t dematerialize, so…she was schizophrenic?
Christ, she’d almost rather it be a slayer.
Ehlena had the driver drop her as close to the back of the rented house as possible and gave him a little extra in the tip for being so nice.
“I’ll wait until you get inside,” the guy said.
“Thanks.” And man, she meant that.
With two plastic bags hanging from each hand, she walked quickly to the door and had to put her load down, because like an idiot she’d been so busy wigging out that she hadn’t gotten her keys ready. Just as she put her hand into her purse to do the rummage-and-curse routine, the taxi took off.
She looked up as its taillights turned the corner. What the—
“Hello.”
Ehlena froze. The presence was right behind her. And she knew exactly who it was.
As she pivoted around, she saw a tall female with black hair and a lot of robes and glowing eyes. Ah, yes…this was Rehvenge’s other—
“Half,” the female finished. “I am his other half. And I am sorry your taxi driver had to leave so quickly.”
On instinct, Ehlena covered her thoughts with the image of a display from Hannaford’s: a five-foot-high, three-foot-wide display of red Pringles cans.
The female frowned as if she had no clue what she was finding in the cerebral cortex she was trying to invade, but then she smiled. “You have nothing to fear from me. I just thought I would share some things with you about that male you fucked back in his penthouse.”
Screw the snack-food thought facade; that didn’t go far enough. To keep calm, Ehlena needed all her professional training. This situation was a trauma case, she told herself. A bloody vampire body that had just been wheeled in before her, and she had to put aside all fear and all emotion to deal with the situation.
“Did you hear what I said?” the female drawled, her speech pattern nothing that Ehlena had ever heard before, the Ss extended into hisses. “I watched you through the glass, right until he pulled out at the end. Do you want to know why he did that?”
Ehlena kept her mouth shut and started wondering how she could get at the pepper spray in her pocketbook. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that would have any effect—
Holy shit, were those…live scorpions in those earlobes?
“He’s not like you.” The female smiled with an evil satisfaction. “And not just because he’s a drug lord. He’s also not a vampire.” When Ehlena’s brows twitched, the female laughed. “You didn’t know either of those?”
Evidently her Pringles and her training weren’t completely doing the job. “I don’t believe you.”
“ZeroSum. Downtown. He owns it. You know the place? Probably not, as you don’t seem like the type who would go there—which is no doubt why he likes to fuck you. Let me tell you what he sells. Human women. Drugs of all kinds. And you know why? Because he’s like me, not you.” The female leaned in close, her eyes flashing brightly. “And do you know what I am?”
A flaming bitch, Ehlena thought.
“I’m a symphath, little girl. That’s what he and I are. And he’s mine.”
Ehlena started to wonder if she was going to die tonight, here on the back stoop with four bags of groceries at her feet. Although it wouldn’t be because this lying female was actually a symphath—it would be because anyone who was crazy enough to suggest such a thing was absolutely capable of murder.
The female continued, her voice strident. “You want to really know him? Go to that club and find him there. Make him tell you the truth and know what you let into your body, little one. And remember this, he is all mine, sexually, emotionally, everything he is, is mine.”
A three-knuckled finger brushed down Ehlena’s cheek, and then just like that the female was gone.
Ehlena shook so badly she momentarily turned into a solid, the trembling so deep in her muscles she was rendered motionless. The cold was what saved her. As an icy blast shot down the sidewalk, it pushed her forward, and she caught herself before she teetered over onto her groceries.
The key to the house, when she finally found it, went into the lock no better than the one she’d tried to use on the ambulance. Skipping…skipping…skipping…
Finally.
She cranked the lock free, and all but threw the bags inside before slamming herself in and locking everything tight, including the interior dead bolts and the security chain.
On weak legs, she went and sat down at the kitchen table. When her father called up about the noise, she said it was the wind and prayed he wouldn’t come up to see her.
In the ensuing quiet, Ehlena didn’t feel any presence outside of the house, but the idea someone like that knew about her and Rehv and where she lived—Oh, God, that crazy female had watched them.
Bolting up, she rushed to the kitchen sink and ran the tap to cover the noise in case she got sick. Hoping to settle her stomach, she put her palms together, captured some cool water, and had a few swallows before washing her face.
The drink
and rinse cleared her head a little.
The claims the female had made were totally and bizarrely outlandish, way far outside the realm of reality—and going by her glowing eyes, she clearly had an ax to grind.
Rehv wasn’t any of those things. Drug lord. Symphath. Pimp. Come on.
Sure as hell you didn’t take anything so much as what a male’s favorite color was from some stalker ex-girlfriend type. Especially given that Rehv had made it clear the two weren’t together, and intimated from the get-go that the chick was trouble. And no wonder he hadn’t wanted to go into it. No one wanted to admit to somebody they were getting involved with that they had lurking in their past a bunny-boiling, I’m-not-going-to-be-ignored-Dan sort of psychotic.
So what did she do now? Well, that was obvious. She was going to tell Rehv. Not in a freaked-out, keep-the-drama-rolling kind of way, but more like, Here is what happened and you need to be aware that this person is seriously unstable.
Ehlena felt good with the plan.
Until she tried to get her phone out of her purse and realized she was still shaking. Her mind’s response might be logical, her rationalizations might be fine and dandy, but her adrenaline was cooking along like crazy, and not really interested in all the sense she was talking into herself.
What was she doing? Oh…right. Rehvenge. Call Rehvenge.
As she hit his number, she started relaxing a little. They were going to work this out.
She was momentarily surprised when she got voice mail, but then remembered he’d had that meeting to go to. She almost hung up, but she wasn’t the kind who beat around the bush, and there was no reason to wait.
“Hey, Rehv, I just got a visit from this…female. She was talking a lot of craziness about you. I just…well, I thought you should know. To be honest, she’s freaky. Anyway, maybe you can call me and talk to me about this? I’d really appreciate it. Bye.”
She hung up and stared at the phone, praying he got back to her fast.
Wrath had made a promise to Beth and he kept it. Even though it killed him.
When he and the Brothers finally left Sal’s, he went straight home, along with his two thousand pounds of personal guard. He was twitchy and fist-hungry, teed up and pissed off, but he’d told his shellan he was not going to go out in the field after his little blind episode, and he wasn’t.
Trust was something you had to build, and considering the hole he’d jackhammered into the foundation of their relationship, it was going to take him a lot of work just to get back to ground level.
Besides, if he couldn’t fight, there was something else he could do to take the edge off.
As the Brotherhood walked into the foyer, the sound of boots echoed, and Beth shot out of the billiards room as if that were what she’d been waiting for. With a leap, she was in his arms before he could blink, and it was good.
After a quick hug, she stepped back and held him at arm’s length, looking him over. “You’re okay? What happened? Who showed? How—”
The Brothers all started talking at once, although not about the meeting that hadn’t happened. The bunch of them were bidding over territory to hunt during the three hours they had left to be out and about.
“Let’s go to the study,” Wrath said over the din. “I can’t hear myself think.”
As he and Beth hit the stairs, he called out to his brothers, “Thanks for having my back once again.”
The group stopped and turned to face him. After a beat of silence, they formed a half circle around the foot of the grand staircase, each making a thick fist with his weapon hand. With a great whoomp! of a war cry, they went down on their right knee and slammed their heavy knuckles into the mosaic floor. The sound was thunder and bass drums and bomb explosions, ricocheting outward, filling all the rooms of the mansion.
Wrath stared at them, seeing their heads bent, their broad backs curled, their powerful arms planted. They had each gone to that meeting prepared to take a bullet for him, and that would ever be true.
Behind Tohr’s smaller form, Lassiter, the fallen angel, stood with a straight spine, but he wasn’t cracking any jokes at this reaffirmation of allegiance. Instead, he was back to staring at the damn ceiling. Wrath glanced up at the mural of warriors silhouetted against a blue sky and could see nothing much of the pictures that he’d been told were there.
Getting back with the program, he said in the Old Language, “No stronger allies, no greater friends, no better fighters of honor could a king behold than these assembled afore me, mine brothers, mine blood.”
A rolling growl of ascent lifted as the warriors got to their feet again, and Wrath nodded to each one of them. He had no more words to offer as his throat had abruptly choked, but they didn’t seem to need anything else. They stared at him with respect and gratitude and purpose, and he accepted their enormous gifts with grave appreciation and resolve. This was the ages-old covenant between king and subjects, the pledges on both sides made with the heart and carried out by the sharp mind and the strong body.
“God, I love you guys,” Beth said.
There was a lot of deep laughter, and then Hollywood said, “You want us to stab the floor for you again? Fists are for kings, but the queen gets the daggers.”
“I wouldn’t want you to take chips out of this beautiful floor. Thank you, though.”
“Say the word and it’s nothing but rubble.”
Beth laughed. “Be still, my heart.”
The Brothers came over and kissed the Saturnine Ruby that rode on her finger, and as each paid his honor, she gave him a gentle stroke of the hair. Except for Zsadist, who she smiled tenderly at.
“Excuse us, boys,” Wrath said. “Little quiet time, feel me?”
There was a ripple of male approval, which Beth took in stride—and with a blush—and then it was time for some privacy.
As Wrath headed upstairs with his shellan, he was feeling like things were getting back to normal. Okay, yeah, there were assassination plots and political drama and lessers everywhere, but that was business as usual. And right now he had his brothers shoulder-to-shoulder and his beloved mate under his arm and the people and doggen he gave a shit about as safe as he could make them.
Beth laid her head on his pec and her hand on his waist. “I’m really glad everyone’s okay.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
He ushered her into the study and shut both doors, the warmth of the fire a balm…and an enticement. As she walked over to the paper-strewn desk, he tracked the sway of her hips.
With a flick of the wrist, he locked them in together.
While he came over to her, Beth reached out to try to make some order of the documents. “So what hap—”
Wrath pressed his hips into her ass and whispered, “I need to be in you.”
His shellan gasped and let her head fall back onto his shoulder. “Oh, God…yes…”
Growling, he slipped a hand around to her breast, and as her breath caught, he rolled his cock against her. “I don’t want to take my time with this.”
“Me neither.”
“Lean on the desk.”
Watching her tilt and arch her back nearly made him curse. And then she spread her feet apart and a fuuuuck slipped out.
Which was exactly what he was going to do.
Wrath canned the lamp on the desk so there was only the dancing golden light of the fire to illuminate them, and his hands were rough as he ran them over her hips in anticipation. Crouching behind her, he dragged his fangs down her spine and made her shift her weight onto one foot so he could pop off her stillie and shuck her Sevens free. He was too impatient to do the other side, though—especially as he looked up and saw her deliciously unfussy black panties.
Right. Change in plan.
The penetration was going to wait.
At least the one with his cock.
Staying on his haunches, he removed his weapons with both care and speed, making sure the safeties were in place on his guns and his blade
s were clipped into their holster. If the door wasn’t locked, they would have been put in the combination gun closet, no matter how hard up he was for his female. With Nalla around, no one in the house was running the risk of Z and Bella’s daughter picking up any kind of weapon. Ever.
Disarmed, he took off his wraparounds and tossed them onto the desk, then slid his hands up the backs of his mate’s smooth thighs. Splitting her wide, he arched up and put himself between her legs, lifting his mouth to the cotton that covered the core he was going to be coming into very soon.
He pressed his mouth to her, feeling the heat through what she wore, her scent driving him wild, his cock kicking so hard in his leathers, he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d just orgasmed. Nuzzling and then licking at her through the panties wasn’t enough…so he took the cotton between his teeth and rubbed at her sex with it, knowing damn well that lateral seam was massaging right at the spot he was dying to suck her off at.
There was a thump-thump as her palms repositioned on the desk and a rustle as papers flitted down to the floor.
“Wrath…”
“What,” he murmured against her, working her with his nose. “You don’t like?”
“Shut up and get back to doing—”
His tongue slipping under the panties cut her off…and made him have to slow himself down. She was so slick and wet and soft and willing, it was all he could do to keep himself from hauling her on the rug and going at her deep and hard.
And then they’d both miss out on the fun of anticipation.
Moving the cotton aside with his hand, he kissed her pink flesh, then delved in. She was oh, so ready for him, and he knew it because of the honey that he swallowed as he dragged upward in a long, slow lick.
But it wasn’t enough, and holding the panties to the side was distracting.
With his fang, he punctured them, then split them apart right up the middle, leaving the two halves to hang off her hips. His palms went up to her ass and squeezed hard as he quit fooling around and got busy working out his female with his mouth. He knew exactly what she liked best, the sucking and the licking and the going in with his tongue.