by J. R. Ward
So much easier than dealing with the trauma of what had gone down at Havers's clinic.
She was behind her desk, answering email, talking on the phone, about to transition into her report-writing mind-set, when she realized she hadn't kept up with tradition.
"...think that is a really healthy solution," she said to the female on the line. "Your being close to your family is a good thing. You need extra help and support during this transitional period."
The survivor she was speaking with had been in the house for about eight months, the victim of an abusive boyfriend who had threatened to kill her when she'd told him she was finally leaving him after twenty-two years. Fortunately, she had had Safe Place to come to and be protected in as she had gradually unpacked all the damage from decades of abuse.
Now she was out on her own, and as for the boyfriend?
He was doing better, too.
Although that wasn't a result of personal introspection and growth. That was because Butch and Rhage had paid him a visit one evening right before dawn.
Mary hadn't asked a lot of questions. Actually, there had been only one: Was the bastard still breathing? When that had been answered in the affirmative, that was all she'd needed to know--and it went without saying that the male wasn't going to be bothering his ex anymore. Not if he wanted to keep his arms, legs, head, and testicles where they were supposed to be.
"I'm always here for you," Mary said, meaning every word. "Okay, great. I'll look forward to it. Bye, now."
As she hung up, she opened Facebook on her computer and signed in to the closed group for vampires only. She hadn't checked the night before, and her buoyant mood meant, for once, she didn't have a stomach ache as she went through the postings that had absolutely nothing to do with Bitty in the slightest.
"Nailed it," she said as she went to--
She had almost signed out when she noticed the red-flagged number 1 by the messenger icon.
For some stupid reason, she looked around the room. Like maybe the person it was actually intended for might materialize behind her desk or maybe walk through her open door.
Mary had never gotten a message before on her account. She wasn't a frequent FB user at all. In fact...the only post she had ever made had been the one asking if anybody was familiar with Bitty's family--specifically that uncle the girl had talked about right after her mother had passed. The one who had supposedly been imminently coming for her, in spite of the fact that her mahmen had never mentioned him or given any forwarding address for any family whatsoever.
The one whose name Bitty wasn't even sure of...Run, or something.
It had to be spam. Like the president of Nigeria asking her to fix a money problem of his in return for 3 million USD deposited directly into her bank account. Or an offer for Viagra or Cialis. Maybe a porn site.
Telling herself to get a grip, she was nonetheless shaking as she moved the little arrow over to the red flag and double-clicked the mouse.
When she saw who it was from, her breath stopped in her throat and the world spun.
"Ruhn" was the name of the sender.
hen Elise re-formed in the parking lot of the Brazilian steakhouse, Ignacio's, in Lucas Square, she checked her hair and smoothed the skirt she was wearing. There wasn't much of a breeze, thank God, so things were still where they needed to be on her head and she wasn't Marilyn Monroe'ing the lower part of what she had on.
Which was handy because Troy was just getting out of his car and locking up.
"Hi," she called out, stepping free of the shadows.
His smile was so immediate, she felt a tinge of guilt.
"Hey!" he said. "You found this place."
"I had to look it up on the Internet. I don't get out much."
Troy met her more than halfway across the lot, even though it meant he had to double back to escort her to the entrance. "Well, considering how much you work, I can see how that would be true. And wow...you look...amazing."
"Thanks." Oh, God. "So do you."
Troy had left his hair down, the curling lengths just touching the shoulders of his wool peacoat. His pants were cream corduroys and he had his Merrells on. The scarf he had artfully tied around his neck was red.
But he wasn't Axe. And that should have been a good thing.
Holding the door open, he indicated the way in with a gallant hand. "After you."
"Thank you."
Inside, the scents were heavenly and thick, and her stomach rumbled in approval and impatience. She hadn't eaten much since the night before. Too distracted.
Not with Troy.
Unfortunately.
The hostess was a beautiful young human with dark eyes and hair that was out of a Garnier Fructis ad, and after she took one look at Troy, she didn't bother sparing a glance at Elise. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Two. For Troy? Somewhere by a window?"
"Right away."
Taking two menus, the woman sashayed through the completely empty restaurant. Well, almost completely empty. There was an older human couple on the far side, a group of three way in the back...and one other couple.
"With it being almost Christmas," the hostess said, "we're having a light night."
"Thank you," Elise murmured as she sat down and accepted her menu. "I'm surprised you're open."
"I'm getting paid. That's all I care about. Your server will be right with you."
The hostess walked off, glancing over her shoulder to see if Troy was watching her go. He wasn't. He was smiling at Elise.
"I'm really glad we're finally doing this." He drew a hand through his hair. "And I'm glad you and I talked about what...you know, if something comes of it...I, ah, I think your switching to a different T.A. position makes sense. I wasn't going to be on your doctoral committee anyway because of my advising you, so that's also taken care of."
He had texted her late in the afternoon and brought up the whole professor/student thing, and Elise had agreed with him on every point--while knowing, the entire time they were going back and forth, that they were never going to be in a relationship.
There was way too much Axe in her head.
Not that she was going to end up with him, either.
"This is not to pressure you," Troy rushed in, putting his palms up. "I'm not taking for granted this is going anywhere. I'm just glad I've got a shot."
Elise smiled and opened up the heavy menu, because she wasn't sure what she should say to that. "Oh, look at all these choices."
Okay, that was basic, granted. But the reality she couldn't escape was that she'd spent all day thinking about Axe, remembering the way he'd met her eyes, that little half smile he'd sported when she'd called him out, the sound of his voice.
The way his body had lounged in that chair in the library--
Stop it.
She'd already wasted an entire day's sleep on the guy. She wasn't going to disrespect Troy by ignoring him in favor of a male who wasn't even with them. Especially because what she really needed to be doing was figuring out how to let the human down gently.
What a great first date. Crap.
And P.S., she was never, ever going to give another person a hard time about opening up and expressing themselves.
"What are you going to have?" she asked.
"Steak." As she looked up, Troy laughed. "You?"
"I don't know. Probably...steak."
This time, they both chuckled, and it was amazing how easy it was. Sitting across from Troy, looking into his kind eyes and his handsome face, she wasn't jumpy or insecure. Wasn't spoiling for a fight. Wasn't thinking things that belonged in an erotic novel.
Being around her bodyguard, on the other hand?
"Elise?" Troy prompted as their waiter came up to the table. "Would you like a glass of wine?"
"Yes," she blurted, even though she didn't drink. "White, please."
"I'll have red."
The man in the black and white uniform nodded. "And may I suggest for an appetizer the blah-b
lah-blah..."
As whatever he was saying went in one ear and out the other, Elise shifted in the banquette seat and stretched her back. Fidgeted with her skirt. Her left shoe.
And then she realized the men were both looking at her as if they expected her to yea or nay something. "Well, yes, that sounds lovely."
God only knew what she was going to end up with, but like it mattered? Trying to focus on Troy, she let him start talking, his hands and face growing animated from the story he was telling. But it was as if she couldn't hear him, even though he was right across the table from her.
Boy, it was hot in here.
Pulling at the collar of her blouse, she realized she'd forgotten to take her coat off. That was it. She was having a hot flash because not only did she still have on a couple of yards of wool, they were flame-grilling steaks across the way, and--
Wait a minute.
With a feeling of dread, she leaned out around Troy and looked down to the very far back of the restaurant.
Right by the emergency exit, at a table for two, a lone figure dressed in black was sitting in the very dimmest part of the place, nothing but a glass of water in front of him.
Axe's eyes glowed in the darkness.
As he lifted that glass in salute to her.
Son of a bitch--
"I'm sorry, what?" Troy said with surprise.
Oh, God, had she said that out loud?
--
Axe sat back and silently counted down how long it took Elise to make an excuse to use the ladies' room and head his way with her hair on fire.
Ten...nine...eight...
Bingo, he thought to himself as she got up and came steaming in his direction.
As she arrived at his table of two for one, he was glad in a perverse way that he'd gotten under her skin. He'd hated seeing her walk in with that human, sit down with him, and laugh at whatever joke he was sending her way.
Especially looking like this, with her hair down and her skirt up above her knees.
"What are you doing here?" she gritted out.
"Having dinner." He indicated his knife and fork, and put up the napkin he'd laid in his lap. "Guess what I'm having? Steak. It's going to be steak."
Hell, he should order the stuff raw just so he could tear it apart with his fangs.
"You can't be here right now."
"Oh? Is there a law of physics I'm not aware of? You know, I learned how to blow up cars this week and also how to make a grenade out of a can of Coke, a toothbrush, four inches of duct tape, and a Little Debbie snack cake. But there was nothing about why I can't be where I want to be at mealtimes. Do enlighten me, Your Highness."
"You. Need. To. Go."
"Okay, fine, I lied about the grenade. I can assure you, however, that I'm having my dinner here." He pointed to the table. "Right here."
"This is not--"
"Professional? I'm not on the clock. So being here is not outside of the scope of my duties because it is not within them."
"You are insane."
Axe cut the shit and just stared up at her. "And you are...seriously beautiful tonight."
That stopped her in her tracks. And he took the opportunity to linger on her full lips, and her sweet, creamy throat, and the curve of her breasts...and those legs that were covered in black tights that did nothing to hide her smooth calves and dainty ankles.
"You are so beautiful right now," he murmured, refocusing on her lips. "And I know that tonight it's all for him. That's okay. I accept that. But the least that you can do as I sit here and watch you with that man is leave me in peace to enjoy the sight of you. It is all I have."
Elise crossed her arms over her chest. Dropped them. Looked around.
But she didn't leave.
"So you thought of me, too," he said, well aware that he was seducing her with the tone of voice he was using. "Were you up all day, twisting and turning in those fancy sheets, imagining me on you...in you."
As she gasped, he leaned forward. "I'll pretend all you want. If that's what it takes for us to work together. I'll never talk about this..." He motioned between them. "...thing between us again. I'll be a good boy who keeps his hands to himself--his fantasies, too. But in this moment, honest is as honest does--and in my head, I'm making love to you. Right on that table over there, right in front of him to prove I can."
Axe deliberately raked her body with his eyes, and he left nothing out of his expression: The gnawing hunger, the bottomless pit of need, the rabid, animal lust--he let it all show.
And God help them both, she was supposed to run.
She was supposed to give him another highly logical speech, that intellectual equivalent of a "fuck off" of hers that was so much classier than he deserved.
She was supposed to fire him.
Then storm off.
Elise didn't do any of that.
Instead...she bloomed right before him, her body responding in a rush that magnified her natural scent into a bouquet that made him hard as a fucking rock under the table.
In a low growl, he said, "Go back to him. When you're done, I'll meet you outside."
Her lips, the ones he had tasted in his dreams, parted so she could pant.
"Yes," she breathed. "Outside."
As she turned away, he said her name. And when she looked back at him, he said, "Take your time. I like how much the anticipation hurts."
istorically, back in the Old Country, it had been part of the normal functioning of life for the King to hold audiences with his subjects, ruling on everything from property disputes and petitions for sehclusion to noble matings, rythes, and even murders and other crimes.
However, when Wrath had refused to ascend to the throne for, oh, a couple of centuries, the practice fell by the wayside. All that had changed recently, though, and now the tradition was back in full swing, the audiences being conducted out of the Federal-style mansion Darius had lived in before he'd been blown up in his BMW by the enemy: Every night, Monday through Friday, members of the race came to the great Blind King and sought his advice, counsel, declarations, and blessings.
And tonight's docket was full, Rhage thought as he opened the double doors to the dining room yet again and let out a hellren with his shellan and new baby son. The couple were commoners, dressed in clean but unfancy clothes, their miracle wrapped up in a humble swaddling blanket. Ordinarily, Rhage would have nodded and just let them go, but now he really looked at the family, and even rushed forward to open the heavy main door for them.
"You take care of them," he said to the male.
The guy seemed flustered to be spoken to at all by a brother, and as he stammered, Rhage put a hand on the guy's shoulder. "I know you will."
"Yes, my Lord, yes," he said with a bow. "I shall lay down my life for them both."
Rhage smiled at the female and the young, but he made no move to touch them--certainly not the female, definitely not the baby. That would have broken protocol: Even though he was at the top of the food chain socially and accorded all kinds of honor and respect, it would have been inconceivable in the Old Country for a newborn and its mother to have contact with a male, even in a formal setting, during the first year of life.
It was funny, ever since they had started up with the audiences again, Rhage and the brothers had fallen into the Old Ways again. It just felt right.
Especially in this case, now that Rhage knew firsthand what it was like to be a dad.
"Congratulations again," he said to the couple as he stood to the side and watched them go off into the cold.
The female's father was waiting for them in the driveway in a ten-year-old Honda Accord, and the way the guy jumped out and beamed at the young family, you'd have sworn he was driving a Rolls-Royce.
Rhage gave the grandfather a wave, which floored the male and caused him to bow so fast he nearly fell over--and then Hollywood shut the door to keep the winter breeze from sucking all the warmth out of the foyer.
"Last night's good weather was
just a chimera, huh," he said to the receptionist.
Paradise's second cousin, Beline, looked up from her computer. "I know, right? Don't tell anyone, but under my desk, I've taken my heels off and put fleece socks on."
Rhage nodded to the fire, which had gone down a lot since he'd stoked it an hour ago. "You want me to throw some more wood on?"
"No, thanks." She smiled and pushed up her glasses. "It's just my feet."
There were two people in the waiting room, but there was another wave coming in.
On a lot of levels, he'd rather be in the field, or beating the crap out of the trainees, but he never was at full capacity right after the beast made an appearance, and it was better for him to pull this admin shift now.
After all, every brother had to put in time here, fulfilling their duty as personal guard to Wrath. Between humans, lessers, and members of the glymera linking up with the Band of Bastards, they didn't take any chances with the King's life: There were always a minimum of two members of the Brotherhood on site with Wrath. Tonight, it was he and Vishous, which was always fun.
Mostly because the pair of them could do good cop/bad cop. Or rather, V could sit there with his icy eyes and his hands rolled, making the civilians shit themselves in their pants, and Rhage could be a yo-ho-ho, Steve Harvey-on-Family Feud grin-and-greeter.
Striding back to what had been the dining room, Rhage stood in between the carved jambs and waited as Saxton reviewed a couple of documents with Wrath down at the far end by the flap door into the kitchen. Saxton was frickin' amazing, keeping all the paperwork and documentation straight as well as making sure that the Old Laws were consulted when appropriate.
The set-up for the private meetings was simple and very non-thronal: just two armchairs facing each other in front of the fire, one for the King and one for his subjects--although there were other seats off to the side to be pulled in as needed. Whichever brothers were on stayed at a discreet distance, with Saxton at a desk that was halfway in between. There was a rolling cart of coffee, tea, and sodas, along with cookies and other kinds of snacks--
A blast of cold air whipped into the foyer behind him, and Rhage turned with a smile at whoever...it...
...was...
Rhage's heart didn't so much stop...as die in his chest.
The male who had come in was young and healthy, heavily muscled, but not obviously weaponed, as if he were a manual laborer of some kind as opposed to a fighter. His clothes were so well washed that his jeans fell from his hips like drapes, and his jacket was way too light for December. Construction boots were well worn. No jewelry. Nothing in his hands. No strange scents on him.