by J. R. Ward
As he went through the simple, spacious rooms, he noted the dining room along the back. The library off to the side. The small bathroom under the stairs. A pantry and a number of closets.
In the recesses of his mind, he couldn’t help but note the woodworking on the moldings, the furniture, and especially the paneling and shelving in the library. Her hellren must have been a master carver of the old-school variety, and for some reason, that made Ruhn feel even more protective of Mistress Miniahna. Then again, these were his kind of people, civilians who worked for a living and earned their way honestly. Which was not to say that he did not respect the Brothers. As soldiers, they worked just as hard, and in dangerous, even deadly, situations. No, he was thinking of the glymera…of Saxton’s people…although he meant no disrespect to that male specifically—certainly the solicitor had risen above the shiftless nature of so much of his class, for Ruhn knew well how much work he did.
But yes, the high-bred dilettantes.
In fact, maybe that was why Ruhn felt so disconnected in the mansion. Being surrounded by all the trappings of great wealth, he found it difficult to reconcile who the people were with the assets of the highest social order of vampires. This house was his style, though. Grander than he would ever live in on his own, but so lovingly built and enjoyed.
Those fucking humans.
Indeed, although he had made a vow not to return to his old ways, he was going to happily sort this little difficulty out. By force, if necessary.
Backtracking into the country kitchen, he then returned to the parlor. Saxton was leaning forward on his cushion on the sofa, his hands motioning in emphasis.
“—think we need to reach out to them on your behalf.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” the mistress was saying. “You all work for the King. You have more serious matters than this to address.”
“It would be our pleasure to be of service unto you.”
“No, I must insist you do naught. All will be well—surely they will become bored of this soon?”
As Saxton brushed an impatient hand through his thick blond hair, Ruhn happened to notice the way the waves resettled into place, riding a cowlick that was off to one side.
It seemed odd to note such a thing, and Ruhn was careful to redirect his attention to the mistress.
“Please,” he heard himself say. “I would not feel right about leaving you here to fight them alone.”
“Must it be a fight, though?” Old hands twisted in her lap. “Again, perhaps they will just tire of me.”
Saxton spoke up. “They used a gun to threaten you. Do you think they are tiring—”
“Forgive me,” Ruhn interrupted. “But I noticed when I was in your kitchen that the shutters along the back of the house are shut—and yet those in front are not? Why are they open?”
Miniahna flushed. “The windows are painted shut after all these years, and the only way to close the shutters is to do it manually from the outside. I had opened them before the storm so I could enjoy the moonlight—and to prove that I wasn’t scared. But then the blizzard came…and I have been afraid to go out there alone. I promise you that I’ve been sticking to the rooms in the rear of the house except for tonight. With you coming, I figured…well, if I’m being watched, it is good for them to see that I’m having people in, that I’m not alone. Or was I wrong? Oh, dear, have I put you in danger—”
Ruhn put up his palm. “Do not think more of it. You did the right thing. But may I go and shut them for you?”
“Would you?” Miniahna began to blink quickly. “That would be such a help.”
“Work of a moment.”
Ruhn gave Saxton a nod and went to the front door to put his boots back on. As he let himself out of the house, the cold air made his eyes and the inside of his nose sting, but he ignored that as he stepped off the stoop and slid in between the hedges and the house. Closing the shutters one by one, he locked each set of them in place with hook latches.
A quick check on the sides of the house and around the back satisfied him that everything else was in order, and then he returned to around front.
He did not go back inside right away. Searching the big tree, he thought of those tracks in the lane.
On an impulse, he trekked through the deep snow to the truck and got out a flashlight. Triggering the beam, he trained the light up into the barren branches above him.
He found the remote camera off to one side, a subtle wink of glass flashing as the illumination hit the lens’s reflective surface. But before he did anything about it, he continued his investigation, doing a one-eighty on the property. He located a second one around the back.
Killing the flashlight, he went to the front entrance, stomped the snow off his boots on the mat, and let himself in.
After he’d reclosed the door, he leaned into the parlor. “Mistress? You said you had a security camera—do you have more than one?”
“No, why?”
“No reason. Where is your camera located again?”
“On the corner of the house under the eaves, over there.” She pointed to her right. “It’s so I can see anyone who is at the door. Is there something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ll be right back. Just checking all the shutters.”
Outside again, he located her monitoring device and then did another pass around the property just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. After that, he stepped out of view and dematerialized up into the big maple. Removing that camera, he ghosted around to the rear and took the other one off its mounting as well. Both had activation switches that were easy to operate and he turned them off—and the units were small, so the pair fit into the deep pockets of his peacoat.
As he walked back inside once again, Mistress Miniahna looked up. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, madam. All is in order.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No, I did not.” He glanced at Saxton. “Perhaps she should have our contact information?”
“Yes, indeed.” Saxton put an elegant hand into his jacket. “Here is my card—Ruhn, we don’t have one for you, do we.”
“I can tell you my number?” he said to the mistress.
“Here is a pen.” She opened a little drawer in the side table next to her. “Will you write it down for me on his card?”
Ruhn froze.
But fortunately, Saxton smoothed the awkwardness over by taking what she offered. “Ruhn? What is your number?”
Swallowing hard, he recited the digits and tried not to feel as though he were stupid.
“Here you are.” Saxton stood up and gave the older female the card. “Call either one of us. Day or night. I will do my own independent title search on the property, although I do not expect to find anything of note out of place. And then I will reach out to Mr. Romanski as your solicitor and see what we can do about your difficulties.”
Mistress Miniahna stood and clasped the card to her heart. “I am very grateful. In truth, I hate to be an imposition, but I am not…my granddaughter is probably right. I should not handle this alone.”
“You said your granddaughter is not far?”
“About twenty miles away.”
Saxton nodded. “There is a good chance that things will get a little more messy before they get better. I cannot tell you to vacate your property, but I would advise it.”
“I really would prefer to stay.”
“We understand. Please consider the option, however.”
After they both bowed low, and the mistress bid them best of night, Saxton put his shoes back on and they left and got in the truck.
“So I found something,” he said as he drove them out the lane to the county road.
“Tell me.”
“Here.” He took the cameras from his pocket. “I only saw two. Maybe there are more, though.”
Saxton held both in his palms. “Where did you find these?”
“The trees. They’re watching her.�
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As Saxton said something vile under his breath, Ruhn turned out of the driveway and hit the gas.
“I could not agree more,” he muttered.
For the next twenty minutes or so, the King’s solicitor made some phone calls, one of which was to Vishous, and then there were a number of others where the person on the other end wasn’t immediately apparent.
After that, they were just riding along, heading back to the Brotherhood’s compound.
“I’m going with you when you go to talk to the humans,” Ruhn announced.
“Yes, I should be ready tomorrow night or the next. I have research to do.”
“And I’m going to make routine trips out there to the property.” He felt Saxton look over at him. “You might let her know—or choose not to tell her. Whatever you deem best. But I can dematerialize there now that I know where it is, and I’ll be discreet. I don’t want her there all by herself, however.”
“We need to talk about what happens if you meet up with any of them. Particularly if it’s before I finish my investigation into the property records.”
“I won’t hurt them. But I shall not be gentle when I remove their presence from the mistress’s property.”
Abruptly, a strange scent reached Ruhn’s nose…a dark spice. And it was strange. Whatever it was got into his nose and somehow into his entire body. He’d never smelled anything so good, actually. It was—
Ruhn frowned as something in his body shifted, a rushing instinct thickening his blood…thickening somewhere else on him, too.
When he realized he was aroused, he recoiled in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel hard, sweat blooming on his chest and running up into his face.
This was sexual attraction, he realized with shock.
Toward…a male.
“Ruhn?”
He jumped in his seat. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Are you all right? You just made a strange noise.”
Aware that his heart had begun to beat with panic, he swallowed through a tight throat. “I am well. Very well.”
“All right. Anyway, Vishous wants to look at the cameras, and I will bring them to him. And then I will…”
As the King’s solicitor continued talking, Ruhn tried to follow the conversation, filling in the breaks of silence with what he hoped were appropriately supportive and affirming nods and mm-hmm’s.
Behind his eyes, all in his skull, however, he was screaming.
The one defining thing in his life, back as far as he could remember, was that he did not belong. Not even with his loving parents as he had grown up, not with what happened during the bad years, not when he was searching for his lost sister…and not even as he joined the Brotherhood and lived in their beautiful mansion and accepted material things that he had not earned.
He was someone who had been ever apart, and for the longest time, he had assumed—or perhaps prayed—that all of that isolation would be relieved by him finding, finally, the place in the world where he belonged.
This shocking attraction? To a male? It seemed just one more unwelcome reminder that he was never going to fit in. After all, that kind of thing might be accepted in the glymera, but never in the civilian class.
“Ruhn?”
Closing his eyes briefly, he said, “Yes?”
“You don’t look well.”
“I am fine. Worry not, I am well enough to do my duty.”
And he would complete it, regardless of this momentary…whatever it was—after which he was going to take his leave of the household. He would find a station somewhere in one of the big estates here in Caldwell so he could still see Bitty, and he would resume his handymale ways, fixing and doing manual upkeep.
Until he was claimed by the Fade.
An unspectacular life, perhaps. But not all were granted grand destinies, and who was he to think he was special enough to warrant that, anyway. What he was certain of? He had enough secrets he needed to keep.
A strange, misplaced attraction to Saxton was not going to be added to that list.
Peyton ended up not leaving the training center for the day, but then no one did. All of the trainees stayed—and he was careful to keep away from them. After his debriefing with Rhage, he left the office and considered joining the others for the food that he could smell in the break room. A non-specific rolling nausea and highly specific frontal-lobe headache cured him of that bad idea. And besides, the last thing anyone needed was Craeg snapping and going on the attack.
Although with the way Peyton was feeling, he was liable to leave himself undefended, accepting an old-school rythe of sorts.
At least Novo was still hanging on. Craeg had fed her and so had Boone, from what Peyton had been told. He had been surprised the Brothers hadn’t been used, but then it seemed as though the clinical staff recognized that the trainees wanted to be the ones who helped their fallen soldier, even though the Brotherhood certainly had stronger blood.
God…he wished he could have given her a vein. And she had to be at least in and out of consciousness; otherwise she couldn’t be feeding.
But again, no one asked him and he knew better than to volunteer.
Left to his own devices, he made his way down to where the classrooms were, and what was on the far side of door number three worked well enough: He took up res in the empty company of the tables and chairs and blackboard where Tohr had taught them about bomb making and detonation, and V had done a course on torture techniques.
Fuck algebra. They were actually going to use that stuff.
Well, the others were going to use it. Although Rhage had said nothing yet about kicking him out, he had to believe that was coming.
And therapy? With Mary?
Who were they even kidding? The last thing he wanted was to have to talk to Rhage’s shellan about how he was feeling about what had happened. Hell, getting through the facts had been hard enough—and besides, it wasn’t a great fucking mystery. Guilt, regret, shame.
Come on. Like, duh.
After he paced around for a while, he lay flat on the desk and stared up at the ceiling, his lower back pointing out that there was no mattress underneath him, his arm aching because he angled it up and used the thing as a pillow. As the day wore on, he would get up and pace again from time to time, trailing his fingertips on the slick tops of the tables they had all sat at while they had been in class.
He wanted to go back to the student part of things, when the learning had been theoretical. It had been a grand adventure back then.
He wanted to go back to before his cousin had died. Because that had seemed like the first of the bad dominoes to fall.
He wanted to go back to that alley. But he had recriminated enough over what he wished he had done differently there.
When the door opened, he was lying down again and he didn’t bother to look over from his desk-bed. He knew by the scent who it was.
“Hey, Rhage.” Peyton rubbed his face. “You got good news for me? No? Well, at least I’m used to that—oh, wait, this is the part where you kick me out, right?”
“She’s asking for you.”
Peyton jumped to his feet before he was aware of moving. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” The Brother nodded out into the hall. “She’s waiting.”
Okay, this was a shocker. Unless Novo wanted to yell at him—and hey, if that was what motivated her to stay alive, he was good with being her punching bag.
Out in the corridor, he headed for the clinic area, and as he went along, he pulled up his combat pants and re-tucked his black muscle shirt.
But like she was going to give a shit how he was dressed?
At the door of her hospital room, he knocked—and when he heard a muffled response, he pushed his way inside.
Oh…shit.
Novo was lying prone in that bed with the high rails, her motionless body hooked up to beeping machines by miles of wires. Her skin was sallow, the yellow tint making him think about her li
ver—no, wait, was that the kidneys? He couldn’t think. And her lids were down low, her mouth parted as if she were trying to breathe with the minimum amount of effort. Next to her, Ehlena was checking one of the monitors…and then the nurse put something in the IV line, using a syringe.
“Come closer,” Novo croaked. “Not going to bite.”
The nurse glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m glad they found you. I’ll leave you two to it—but Dr. Manello will be coming in very soon.”
As the female left, Peyton went over to the side of the bed. Opening his mouth, he meant to say something appropriate. Nothing occurred to him.
Feeling like a fool, he went with: “Hey.”
Yup, real original, profound stuff right there—God, why couldn’t he have been the one to get stabbed?
Novo lifted her arm, or at least tried to—only her hand got up off the sheets. “Don’t leave.”
“Not until you tell me I have to.”
“No…the program. Don’t leave. I know that’s…what you’re thinking. I know…you’re going to try to…leave.”
For a moment, he considered pretending that hadn’t been on his mind, oh, like, two minutes ago. But she looked so tired and worn out that he didn’t want to waste her energy—even though he couldn’t understand why she cared.
“We need…fighters,” she said hoarsely. “You…good one.”
“How can you even say that?” He pulled a chair over, sat down, and put his head in his hands. “How can you even…”
His voice drifted off as tears came into his eyes. He was so goddamn exhausted with being the fuckup, the asshole, the partyer, the rake…he was a poor excuse for a male of worth, and his father knew it just as everyone who had ever crossed his path did.
And now this incontrovertible evidence of his perennially poor judgment.
This. Here. Lying on this hospital bed. Just out of the operating room, where they had had to repair her heart.
Off in the distance, he heard that patient, the one who was losing his mind, scream like the male was also trapped in some kind of nightmare.