by J. R. Ward
At that point, there was nothing but silence. Although what was there to say? The reality of where Payne was—and was not—hung around everyone’s neck.
Manny had never felt so powerless in his life.
“’Scuse me,” his semi-brother said, “I need another drink.”
As Butch peeled off and went into the other room, Manny watched him disappear through an elaborate archway. “You know, I’ll second that on the hooch.”
“My house is yours,” the king said darkly. “Bar’s that way.”
Fighting back an odd urge to bow, Manny nodded instead. “Thanks, man.” When knuckles were presented, he tapped them and then gave Jane and her husband a nod.
The room he walked into was like the best horse racing hospitality suite anyone had ever seen. Hell, they even had a popcorn machine.
“More Lag?” the guy muttered from across the way.
Manny pivoted and found himself measuring one fuck of a bar. “Yeah. Please.”
He brought his glass over, and gave it to the man. And when the sound of Scotch splashing seemed loud as a scream, he wandered up to a sound system that could probably be used to play Madison Square Garden.
Pushing the buttons, he called up a mix of . . . gangsta rap.
Quick shift and he was into the high-def radio, on a search for the metal station. As Slipknot’s “Dead Memories” started banging, he took a deep breath.
Nightfall. He was just waiting for nightfall.
“Here,” the cop said, delivering the liquor. With a grimace, he nodded to one of the speakers. “You like that shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s one way we ain’t related.”
Payne’s twin put his head into the room. “What the hell is that noise?” Like someone had decided to speak in tongues. Or maybe bust out some Justin Bieber.
Manny just shook his head. “It’s music.”
“Only if you say so.”
Manny rolled his eyes and retreated into a very dark, dangerous place in his mind. The reality that there was nothing he could do for his woman at the moment made him want to hurt something. And the fact that it appeared he had some vampire in him was exactly the kind of revelation he did not need on a day like today.
God, he felt like death.
“Pool, anyone?” he said numbly.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Absolutely.”
Jane stepped in and gave him a quick hug. “Count me in.”
Guess he wasn’t the only one desperate for a distraction.
FIFTY-FIVE
As Payne sat on something padded with her hands in her lap, she surmised that she was in a car because the subtle vibrating sensation was similar to what she had felt when she had traveled beside Manuel in his Porsche. She could not visually confirm such, however, because just as the Bloodletter’s soldier had promised, she was blindfolded. The scent of the male in charge was beside her, however; although he was frozen in place, so someone else had to be piloting the vehicle.
Naught had happened to her in the intervening hours betwixt their confrontation and this ride now: She had passed the daylight time sitting on the leader’s bed, knees tucked in against her chest, both of the guns next to her on the rough blanket. No one had bothered her, however, so after a while she’d stopped prickling at each noise from above and relaxed some.
Thoughts of Manuel had soon commanded the majority of her attention, and she had played and replayed scenes from their tooshort time together until her heart ached from the agony. Before she’d known it, though, the leader came back down to her and asked her if she required a repast before they left.
No, she hadn’t wanted to eat.
Thereafter, he had blindfolded her with a pristine white cloth—one so clean and lovely that it made her wonder where he had come up with it. And then he took her elbow in a firm grip and led her slowly up the stairs he had carried her down previously.
It was hard to know exactly how long they had been in the car. Twenty minutes? Maybe a half hour?
“Here,” the leader said eventually.
Upon his command, whatever they were in slowed, then stopped, and a door was unlatched. As fresh, cool air wafted in, her elbow was taken once again and she was steadied as she stepped out. The door shut and there was a bang—as if a fist had been knocked on a part of the vehicle.
Spinning tires kicked up dirt onto her robe.
And then she was alone with the leader.
Although he was silent, she sensed him moving behind her, and the fabric about her head was loosened. As it fell free, her breath caught.
“I thought if you were to be released, it should be upon a view worthy of your pale eyes.”
The entire city of Caldwell was revealed down below them, its twinkling lights and streaming traffic a glorious feast for her vision. Indeed, they were upon the shoulders of a small mountain rise, with the city sprawling out at their veritable feet by the banks of the river.
“This is lovely,” she whispered, glancing over at the soldier.
As he stood a ways away, he was remote to the point of being removed, his disfigurement hidden in the shadows he had stepped back into. “Fare thee well, Chosen.”
“And you . . . I still know not your name.”
“True enough.” He gave her a half bow. “Good evening.”
With that he was gone, dematerializing away from her.
After a moment, she turned back to the view, and wondered where in the city Manuel was. It would be in the thicket of tall buildings, so going by the bridge’s location, it would be . . . there.
Yes, there.
Lifting her hand, she drew an invisible circle around the tall, thin construction of glass and steel that she was certain was where he lived.
As her chest pained her and she became breathless, she tarried a moment longer and then scattered north and east, toward the Brotherhood’s compound. There was no enthusiasm to the trip, just an abiding obligation to inform her twin that she was in fact alive and unharmed.
When she took form on the stone steps of the vast mansion, she approached the double doors with a strange dread. She was grateful to be back to a home of sorts, but the absence of her male hollowed out any of the joy she should have felt at the reconnections that were to come.
After she rang the bell, the door into the vestibule immediately unlatched and she was able to step out of the night—
The second, inner door was opened even quicker by the smiling butler.
“Madam!” he cried out.
As she entered a foyer that had charmed her from the moment she’d first seen it days ago, she had a brief impression of her shocked twin leaping into the archway of the billiards room.
Brief was all she got of him, however.
Some great force knocked Vishous out of the way so hard he went flying, the glass in his hand popping out of his hold, whatever drink was in it spraying into the air.
Manuel ripped into the foyer, his body surging forth, the expression on his face one of disbelief and terror and relief all at once.
Except it made no sense that he was running toward her, no sense that he was here in the—
He had her in his arms before she could finish the thought, and oh, fate, he smelled the same, that dark spice that was unique to him and him alone flooding her senses. And his shoulders were just as wide as she remembered. And his waist just as lean. And his embrace just as wonderful about her.
His strong body shook as he held her tightly for a moment and then he backed off as if he were afraid he was injuring her.
His eyes were frantic. “Are you all right? What can I do for you? Do you need a doctor? Are you hurt—I’m asking too many questions—I’m sorry. God . . . what happened? Where did you go? Shit, I have to stop . . .”
As romantic reunions went, perhaps those were not the flowery words some females would want to hear, but to her, they meant everything in the world.
“Why ever are you here?” she whispere
d, putting her hands to his face.
“Because I love you.”
In so many ways, that explained nothing . . . and told her everything she needed to know.
Abruptly, she jerked her hands back. “But what about what I’ve done to your body—”
“I don’t care. We’ll work with it—figure it out—but I was wrong about you and me. I was a pussy—a coward, and I was wrong and I’m so fuck—damned sorry. Shit.” He shook his head. “I have to stop cursing. Oh, God, your robe . . .”
She glanced down and saw the black blood of the slayers she’d killed, as well as the red stain that was of her own.
“I am whole and I am well,” she said clearly. “And I love you—”
Cutting her off, he kissed her on the mouth solemnly. “Say that again. Please.”
“I love you.”
As he groaned and wrapped his arms back around her, Payne felt within her heart a great welling of warmth and gratitude, and she let the emotion carry her against him. And whilst they embraced, she looked over the shoulder of her male. Her brother was standing with his own shellan at his side.
Meeting the eyes of her twin, she read all of the questions and fears in his stare.
“I am uninjured,” she told both her male and her twin.
“What happened?” Manuel asked against her hair. “I found your phone smashed up.”
“You were looking for me?”
“Of course I was.” He inched back. “Your brother called me at dawn.”
All at once she was surrounded by people, as if some gong had gone off and called into the foyer all the males and females of the house. No doubt the commotion of her arrival had summoned them, and they had stayed in the periphery out of respect.
It was clear there were more than just two minds to put at rest.
And that made her feel as if she were a part of this family.
“I was down at the river,” she said loudly enough so that all could hear, “when I caught the scent of the enemy. Drawn to them, I traversed the alleyways and set upon two lessers.” She felt Manuel stiffen and saw her brother do likewise. “It felt good to fight—”
At this, she hesitated. Except the king nodded. And so did a powerful female with short hair—as if she, too, fought in the war and knew both the drive and the satisfaction. The Brothers, however, clearly felt uncomfortable.
She continued. “Upon me there arrived a group of males—strong backed, well-weaponed, indeed, a squadron of soldiers. The leader was very tall, with dark eyes and dark hair and a”—she put her hand to her mouth—“defect of his upper lip.”
Now the cursing started—and as it did, she wished she’d been able to use the seeing bowls on the Other Side more before she’d left. Clearly, the male she described was not unknown to them, and not welcomed in her narrative.
“He apprehended me—” There were not one, but two growls at that—from her twin and from Manuel. And as she soothed the male who stood so close to her, she looked at her brother. “He was under the misunderstanding that I had wrought a calamity upon his bloodline. He believed he was the Bloodletter’s son—and he’d been a witness to the night I brought death upon our sire. Verily, he had searched for me with vengeance for centuries.”
At this point, she stopped herself, realizing she had just admitted to patricide. No one seemed fazed, however—which spoke volumes about not only the kind of males and females these were, but also the bastard who had been her father.
“I disabused the soldier of the mis-notion he was operating under.” She left out the fact that he had struck her, and was glad the bruising on her face had faded. Somehow, she did not believe anyone needed to know about that. “And he believed me. He did not hurt me—in fact, he protected me against his males, giving me his bed—”
Manuel bared his teeth as if he had fangs . . . and did not that just turn her on.
“Alone, I slept alone. He kept all of his subordinates upstairs with him.” More soothing of Manuel—at least until she realized he was fully aroused, as a male driven to mark his female would be. And how erotic was that. “Ah . . . he blindfolded me and had me driven out to a scenic ledge with a view of the city. And then he let me go. That was all.”
Wrath spoke up. “He abducted you against your will.”
“He believed he had cause. He thought I had killed his father. And as soon as he was set correct on that, he was prepared to release me, but it was daylight, so I could go nowhere. I would have called but my phone was lost and it did not appear that they had any to hand as I did not see such. In fact, they were living in the old way, communally and modestly, in an underground room that was alit with candles.”
“Any idea where they stay?” her twin asked.
“I haven’t a clue. I was unconscious when they—” As a loud shout of alarm rose up from so many throats, she shook her head. “I was shot by a lesser—”
“What the fuck—”
“You were what?!”
“A gun—”
“Shot with a—”
“—injured?!”
Hmm. Mayhap that was not of help.
As the Brothers all talked over each other, Manuel scooped her up and held her aloft, his face a mask of bald fury. “That’s it. We’re done here. I’m going to do an exam on you.” He looked over at her brother. “Where can I take her.”
“Upstairs. Hang a right. Three doors down there’s a guest room. I’ll have food sent up, and let me know if you need medical supplies.”
“Roger that.”
And with that, her male hit the stairs with her in his arms.
Good thing she was essentially finished with her story: Given the angle of Manuel’s chin, she was not going to do any more talking about her ordeal for some time.
Unless she wanted him in an utter rage.
Indeed, as he was now, it would appear that that soldier had something to worry about if the two of them ever crossed pathways.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said roughly. “You were all I thought of when I was . . .”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if he were in pain. “They didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” And that was when she realized what he was worried about.
Placing her palm on his face, she said, “He didn’t touch me. None of them did.”
The shudder that went through the strong body that carried her was so great, he nearly tripped. But her male recovered fast . . . and kept going.
As Vishous watched the human take his sister up the grand staircase, he realized he was witnessing a future unfold right before his very eyes. The pair of them were going to work it out, and that surgeon with the highly questionable musical taste was going to be a part of her life . . . and V’s . . . forevermore.
Abruptly, his mind shifted back twelve months, the rewind button stopping when he got to the place in the narrative when he’d gone to the surgeon’s office to scrub the guy’s memories of V’s own time at St. Francis.
Brother.
He had heard the word brother in his head.
At the time, he hadn’t had a fucking clue what it meant—because, come on, like that would ever happen?
And yet here it was, reality once again living up to one of his visions.
Although, for true accuracy, that word should probably have been brother-in-law.
Except then he glanced over at Butch. His best friend was likewise staring upward at the guy.
Shit, he guessed brother might just fit. Which was good. Manello was the kind of guy you wouldn’t mind being related to.
As if the king read his mind, Wrath announced, “The surgeon can stay. Long as he wants. And he can have contact with any human family he has—if he wants. As a relation of mine, he is welcome in my home without restriction.”
There was a grumble of agreement at that: As always, when it came to the Brotherhood, secrets never stayed secrets for very long, so everyone already knew about the Manello/Butch/Wrath connection. Hell, they’d all looked at th
at photograph. Especially V.
Although V had done a little more than that. The name “Robert Bluff” had turned out to be a shell—duh. And the male had to be a half-breed; otherwise there was no way he could have worked at any hospital in the daylight hours. The question was whether and how much he knew about his vampire side—and if he was still alive.
As Jane put her head on his heart, he wrapped his arms around her even further. And then he looked over at Wrath. “Xcor, true.”
“Yup,” the king said. “Verified sighting. And this is not the last time we’re going to hear from him. It’s only the beginning.”
Too right, V thought. The arrival of that band of bastards was not good news for anyone—but most especially Wrath.
“Gentlemen,” the king called out, “and ladies, First Meal is getting cold.”
Which was the cue for everyone to head back to the dining room and actually eat what had been only studiously ignored up until now.
With Payne safe and at home, appetites were free to roam once more . . . although as God was his witness he was not going to think about what the hell that surgeon and his sister were no doubt about to get into.
As he groaned, Jane tightened her arm around his waist. “Are you all right?”
He glanced down at his shellan. “I don’t think my sister is old enough to have sex.”
“V, she’s the same age you are.”
He frowned for a moment. Was she? Or had he been born first?
Yeah, only one place to go for the answer to that.
Shit, he hadn’t even thought of his mother in all this. And now that he was . . . he had absolutely no desire or interest to pop up there and announce that Payne was doing great, fuck you very much.
Nope. If the Scribe Virgin wanted to keep tabs on what her “children” were up to? She could look into those fakakta seeing bowls she liked so much.
He kissed his shellan. “I don’t care what the calendar says or about the birth order. That’s my baby sister, and she’s never going to be old enough to . . . ‘um, yeah.’ ”
Jane laughed and retucked herself under his arm. “You are a very sweet male.”
“Nah.”