by J. R. Ward
With his eyes, he traced her face, that beautiful, kind face. And then he zeroed in on her lips.
Moving slowly, he leaned in, not really sure what the hell he was doing. He had never kissed her. Not once. For all he knew about her body, he knew nothing of her mouth, and as her eyes flared, it was obvious she had never expected the intimacy.
Tilting his head to the side, he shut his lids… and closed the distance until he met a whole lot of velvet.
Softly, chastely, he pressed in and pulled back.
Not enough.
Dipping down again, he lingered at her mouth, brushing, plying. Then he abruptly broke off the contact and shoved himself to his feet. If he didn’t stop now, he wouldn’t at all, and he was already running late for Wrath and his brothers. Besides, this wasn’t about a quick sex session.
It was more important than that.
“I have to get dressed,” he told her. “I have to go.”
“And I shall be here when you return. If you want me to be.”
“I do.”
Turning away, he wasted no time in throwing his clothes on or gathering his weapons, and as soon as he nabbed his leather jacket, he had every intention of going right out the door. Instead, he stopped and looked at her. She had her fingertips up to her lips, her eyes wide and full of wonder… as if she had never felt anything even close to what she just had.
He went back to the bed. “Was that your first kiss?”
She blushed in the most lovely pink, her eyes dropping shyly to the carpet. “Yes.”
For a moment, all he could do was shake his head at everything she had been through.
Then he leaned down. “You gonna let me give you another?”
“Yes, please…” she breathed.
He kissed her longer this time, lingering on her lower lip, even clipping it gently with one of his fangs. At the contact, heat exploded between them, especially as he pulled her up against his body, holding her harder than he should given how many weapons were hanging off his torso.
Before he took her standing up, he forced himself to put her back on the bed. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“What ever for?”
All he could do was shrug because so much of his gratitude was too complicated to give voice to. “I guess for not trying to change me.”
“Never,” she said. “Now be safe.”
“I will.”
Out in the hall, he closed the door quietly and took a deep breath.…
“You all right, my brother?”
He shook himself and glanced over at Z. The male was likewise dressed for fighting, but he was coming down the hall from the opposite direction of his suite.
“Ah, yeah, sure. Yourself?”
“I was sent to get you.”
Right. Got it. And he was glad it was Z. Undoubtedly the guy was well aware of his fucked-up mood, but unlike some of the others—*cough*Rhage*cough*—he would never pry.
Together, they walked down the hall and entered the king’s study, arriving just as V said, “I don’t like this. The one vampire who’s fucked us off for months suddenly calls from out of the blue and says he’s ready to see you?”
Assail, Tohr thought, while he settled against the bookshelves.
As his brothers muttered different variations on the not-so-hot theme, he put his game head on and agreed completely. Too much of a coincidence—
From behind the great desk, Wrath’s expression went stone-cold, and just the look on that face quieted the room: He was going, with or without the rest of them.
“Fucking hell,” Rhage bitched. “You can’t be serious.”
Cursing under his breath, Tohr figured he might as well cut past the argument stage: given the thrust of Wrath’s jaw, the brothers were going to lose in any contest of will. “You are wearing a Kevlar vest,” he told the king.
Wrath bared his fangs. “When have I not.”
“Just needed to be clear on that. What time do you want to leave?”
“Now.”
Vishous lit up a hand-rolled and blew out smoke. “Fucking hell is right.”
Wrath stood up, grasped George’s halter, and came around from the throne. “I want just a regular squadron of four. We go there with too many guns and it’s going to look like we’re nervous. Tohr, V, John, and Qhuinn are going to be on first string.”
Made sense. Rhage with his beast was too much of a wild card. Z and Phury were technically off rotation tonight. Butch needed to be on standby with the Escalade. And Rehv wasn’t in the room, which meant his day job of being king of the symphaths had taken him up north again.
Oh, and Payne? Given what she looked like, she was liable to fritz Assail’s circuits out, rendering him too stupid to speak. Like her twin, she tended to make a big impression on the opposite sex.
Everyone would just be a text away, however, and Wrath was right: They brought the whole fan-damn-ily and that was going to send the wrong message.
As everybody filed out and hit the grand staircase, there were all kinds of under-the-breath grousing, and at the bottom, weapons were rechecked and holsters tightened an extra notch.
Tohr glanced across at John. Qhuinn was on the kid’s ass tighter than a pair of pants, and that was a good thing as it was obvious that all was still not well in John’s world: he smelled like his bonding scent, but looked like death.
The king bent down and talked to George for a moment. Then he grabbed his queen and kissed her like he meant it. “I’ll be home before you know it, leelan.”
While Wrath walked through the crowd and disappeared into the courtyard without aid, Tohr went over to Beth, took her hand, and gave it a squeeze. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’m gonna bring him back as soon as it’s over—in one piece.”
“Thank you—God, thank you.” She put her arms around him and hugged him hard. “I know he’s safe with you.”
As she sank to her haunches to comfort the anxious retriever, Tohr headed for the door, slowing down as he joined the traffic jam of brothers at the vestibule. Waiting to file through, he glanced up at the second-floor balcony. No’One was at the head of the stairs, standing by herself, that hood of hers down.
The braid needed to go, he thought to himself. Hair as beautiful as hers was meant to catch the light and shine.
He lifted his hand in a wave, and after she echoed the good-bye, he ducked out and emerged into the cold night.
Standing close, but not too close to John, he waited for Wrath to give the nod, and then he dematerialized with the king and the boys to a peninsula on the Hudson just north of Xhex’s cabin.
As Tohr re-formed in the midst of a thin beard of forest, the air was bracingly cold and smelled of fallen leaves and the wet rocks of the shoreline.
Up ahead, Assail’s contemporary mansion was a true showpiece, even from this rear view by the garages. The palatial structure had two main floors, with a porch that went all the way around, everything angled and windowed to provide as much of a view of the water as possible.
Dumb-ass place for a vampire to live. All that glass in the daylight?
Then again, what could you expect from a member of the glymera.
The house had been prescreened, as each of the other locations for the meetings had been, so they were familiar with the layout on the exterior—and V had broken in and surveyed the inside as well. Report: Nothing much in there, and clearly that hadn’t changed. In the lights that glowed from the ceilings, there was a whole lot of nothing much in the furniture department.
It was as if Assail lived in a display case featuring himself.
And yet apparently the guy had done a few smart things. According to V, all those glass panels were threaded with fine steel wires, in the manner of a car window defroster system, so there was no dematerializing in or out. He’d also cleared the lawn that circled the place so that if anything or anybody approached, they’d be sitting ducks.
On that note, Tohr let his instincts and senses roam… and had a grand t
otal of nada hit his radar screen. Nothing moved that wasn’t supposed to: just tree limbs and leaves in the breeze, a deer about three hundred yards away, his brother and the boys behind him.
At least until a car came down the narrow, paved driveway.
Jaguar, Tohr guessed by the engine sound.
Yup, he was right. Black XKR. With blacked-out side windows.
The long-nosed convertible went by, stopped at the garage door nearest to the mansion, and then eased inside as the panels rose. Assail, or whoever it was behind the wheel, did not can the engine or get out of the car right away. He waited for the door to drop back into place behind him, and as it did, Tohr noticed there were no windowpanes in the thing. The shit was also a shade ever so slightly off from the trim on the rest of the house. Same with the other five bays.
He’d added those doors since he’d moved in, Tohr thought.
Maybe the SOB wasn’t a total moron.
“Okay, I’ll head over to the front door.” V’s diamond eyes flashed. “I’ll give you a signal… or you’ll hear that lightweight scream like a girl. Either way, you know what to do.”
Annnnnd off he went, dematerializing around the corner of the house. It would be better to have eyes on him, but Wrath was the most important part of this, and the tree line in the back was the only cover there was to be had.
As they waited, Tohr got his gun out, and so did John Matthew and Qhuinn. The king was dripping with forties, but his matched sets stayed put. Way too defensive to have him with a gat in his hand.
But your personal guard? Part of the cocksucking job description.
Keeping sharp, he wished, yet again, that they could leave the king at home for the pregame process, but Wrath had flat-out no’d that idea months ago. Too galling, no doubt, given that, unlike his father, he’d been a fighter before he’d taken the throne—it was just, fucking hell, moments like this made you want to peel your own face off.
Tohr’s cell phone went off three tense minutes later: Kitchen door by the garage.
“He wants us at the back entrance,” Tohr said, putting the thing away. “Wrath, that’s fifty yards straight ahead.”
“Roger that.”
The four of them dematerialized and reappeared on the rear stoop in a flanking formation that provided as much protection to Wrath as possible: Tohr was right in front of the king, John to his right, Qhuinn to his left. V immediately assumed the rear.
And right on cue, Assail opened the door.
FORTY
Tohr’s first impression of their host was that Assail hadn’t changed at all. He was still big enough to be a Brother, with hair so dark he made V seem like a blond. And his clothes were, as always, formal and perfectly tailored. He was also as cagey as ever, his stare shrewd and hooded… seeing too much, capable of too much.
Another fine addition to the continent.
Not.
The aristocrat smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s Wrath in the middle of all those bodies?”
“Show some fucking respect,” V snapped.
“Compliments are the condiment of conversation.” Assail turned away, leaving them to come through the jambs by themselves. “They just get in the way—”
Wrath dematerialized right in the guy’s path, moving so fast they met chest-to-chest.
Baring fangs long as daggers, the king growled low. “Watch your mouth, son. Or I’ll make it impossible for you to throw any more bullshit around.”
Assail stepped back, his eyes narrowing like he was reading Wrath’s vital statistics. “You’re not like your father.”
“Neither are you. Unfortunately.”
As V shut the door, Assail went for his inside pocket—and immediately had four gun muzzles pointed at his head. As he froze, his eyes went from weapon to weapon.
“I was getting out a cigar.”
“I’d do it slowly if I were you,” Wrath murmured. “My boys wouldn’t mind dropping you where you stand.”
“Good thing we’re not in my living room. I love that rug.” He glanced over at V. “You sure you want to do this here in the mudroom?”
“Yeah, bitch, I am,” Vishous ground out.
“Window phobia?”
“You were about to light up,” Wrath said. “Or get lit up. How about we solve that one first and then talk about your sieve of a house.”
“I like the view.”
“Which could be me standing over your grave,” V announced as he nodded at the guy’s disappeared hand.
Cocking a brow, Assail pulled out a long Cuban, and made a point to show it to everybody. Then he went into a side pocket, took out a gold snipper, and held it up to his well-armed peanut gallery.
“Anyone care to join me? No?” He clipped the end off and lit up, seemingly unconcerned that his head was still in the crosshairs.
After a couple of puffs, he said, “So I want to know something.”
“Don’t give me an opening like that,” V muttered.
“Is that why you finally called me?” Wrath asked.
“Yes, it is.” The vampire rolled his cigar back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you have any intention of altering the laws concerning commerce with humans?”
Leaning to the side, Tohr did a flash scan of what he could see of the rest of the house—which wasn’t much: modern kitchen, a hint of the dining room, a living room out the far side. Finding no one moving through the empty rooms, he refocused.
“No,” Wrath said. “Provided the business stays under the radar, you can do what you want. What kind of commerce are you in.”
“Retail.”
“Of what?”
“Does it matter.”
“If you’re not answering, I’m going to assume drugs or women.” Wrath frowned when there was no reply. “So which one is it.”
“Women are too much trouble.”
“That drug shit is tough to keep under the radar.”
“Not the way I take care of things.”
V piped up. “So you’re the reason middlemen have been capping themselves in alleys.”
“No comment.”
Wrath frowned again. “Why bring this up now?”
“Let’s just say I’ve run into one too many interested parties.”
“Be more specific.”
“Well, one of them’s about six feet tall. Brush-cut dark hair. Name rhymes with sex, and her body’s built for it.”
Oh, no, you didn’t, Tohr thought—
The hiss that came out of John brought everyone’s head around. And what do you know, the guy’s eyes were trained on Assail as if, at least in his mind, he was already ripping the male’s throat out.
“I beg your pardon,” Assail drawled. “I didn’t know you were acquainted with her in some manner.”
Tohr growled on behalf of his son—even though they were estranged. “He’s a fuck of a lot more than just acquainted. So you can blow that speculation out your ass—and while you’re at it, stay away from her.”
“She was the one who came to me.”
Greeeeeeeeeeeeeeat. That went over like a lead balloon—
Before shit got out of hand, Wrath held up his palm. “I don’t give a fuck what you do with humans—provided you clean up any messes. But if you get tagged, you’re on your own.”
“What about our species interfering with my commerce.”
Wrath smiled a little, his cruel face showing absolutely no humor. “Having trouble defending your territory already? Guess what. You can’t have what you can’t keep.”
Assail inclined his head. “Fair enough—”
The shattering of glass sounded out behind them all, cutting through everything, crushing time down to a crawl: gunfire.
With a mighty lunge, Tohr went airborne, his massive body flying over the Spanish tile, his target: Wrath.
As a rat-tat-tat-tat-tat spray of bullets hit the back of the house, he tackled the king to the floor, covering his brother with as much
of his body as possible. Everyone else, including Assail, likewise hit the ground and shuffled for cover against various walls.
“My lord, are you hit?” Tohr hissed in Wrath’s ear as he hit send on the text alarm.
“Maybe the neck,” came a groaned response.
“Lie still.”
“You’re all over me. Exactly where do you think I’m going.”
Tohr twisted his head around to eyeball where everybody was. V was all about Assail, his hand locked on the guy’s throat, his weapon tight on their host’s temple. And Qhuinn and John were back-flatted on either side of where they’d come in, covering the outside as well as the entryway into the kitchen.
The cold breeze coming through the broken windowpane in the door did not provide any particular scent, and that proved who it was: Slayers would have stunk up the place given that both the prevailing wind and the shot came from the north.
It was Xcor and his Band of Bastards.
But come on, like they didn’t know that already. That single shot had to have come from a rifle, and had to have been aimed at Wrath through those fucking panes in the door—and it had been a long while since the Lessening Society had shown any finesse in their attacks.
“You were supposed to keep this meeting private, vampire,” V said in a deadly tone.
“No one knows you’re here.”
“Then I’ll assume you ordered an assassination all by your lonesome.”
He was going to shoot the motherfucker, Tohr thought without caring. Right here, right now.
Assail kept it cool, squaring off at the Brother so that the gun muzzle was now pointed at the center of his forehead. “Fuck you—that’s why I wanted to do this out in the living room. That’s bulletproof glass out there, asshole. And P.S., I’m hit, you fool.”
The male lifted his arm and showed off his dripping right hand, the one that had been holding the cigar.
“So maybe your friends have bad aim.”
“That was not bad aim. I’m a target, too—”
More bullets sprayed the back of the house, finding their way in through the cutout in the door. Fucking hell, thermal pane was good against the New York winters, but it didn’t do shit to stop Remington’s best.