Chapter NINETEEN
Rehv woke up in his bedroom in the Adirondack Great Camp he used as a safe house. He could tell where he was by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cheery fire across the way, and the fact that the footboard on the bed had putti carved in the mahogany. What he wasn't clear on was how many hours had passed since his date with the princess. One? A hundred?
Across the dim room, Trez was sitting in an oxblood club chair, reading in the dim yellow light of a goosenecked lamp.
Rehv cleared his throat. "What book is that?"
The Moor looked up, his almond-shaped eyes focusing with a sharpness Rehv could have done without. "You're awake."
"What book?"
"It's The Shadow Death Lexicon."
"Light reading. And here I thought you were a Candace Bushnell fan."
"How're you feeling?"
"Fine. Great. Perky as shit." Rehv grunted as he pushed himself up higher on the pillows. In spite of his sable coat, which was wrapped around his naked body, and the quilts and throw blankets and down comforters on top of him, he was still cold as a penguin's ass, so Trez had obviously hit him with a lot of dopamine. But at least the antivenin had worked, so the wheezing and shortness of breath were gone.
Trez slowly closed the ancient book's cover. "I'm just getting ready, s'all."
"For going into the priesthood? I thought the whole king thing was up your alley."
The Moor put the tome on the low table next to him and rose to his full height. After a full-body stretch, he came over to the bed. "You want food?"
"Yeah. That'd be good."
"Gimme fifteen."
As the door shut behind the guy, Rehv fished around and found the sable's inside pocket. When he took out his phone and checked, there were no messages. No texts.
Ehlena hadn't reached out and touched him. But then, why would she have?
He stared at the phone and traced the keyboard with his thumb. He had a striking hunger to hear her voice, as if the sound of her could wipe away everything that had happened in that cabin.
As if she could wipe away the past two and a half decades.
Rehv went into his contacts and fired up her number on the screen. She was probably at work, but if he left a message, maybe she'd call him on her break. He hesitated, but then hit send and put the phone up to his ear.
The instant he heard ringing, he got a vivid, vile image of him having sex with the princess, his hips pounding away, the moonlight casting obscene shadows on rough floorboards.
He ended the call on a quick punch, feeling as if his body were coated in shit lotion.
God, there were not enough showers in the world for him to be clean enough to talk to Ehlena. Not enough soap or bleach or steel wool. As he pictured her in her pristine nurse's uniform, her strawberry blond hair back in a neat ponytail, her white shoes unscuffed, he knew that if he ever touched her he'd stain her for life.
With his numb thumb, he stroked the flat screen of the phone, as if it were her cheek, then let his hand fall down onto the bed. The sight of the brilliant red veins of his arm reminded him of a couple more things he'd done with the princess.
He'd never thought of his body as any particular gift. It was big and muscular, so it was useful, and the opposite sex liked it, which meant it was an asset of sorts. And it functioned all right...well, except for the side effects it kicked out from the dopamine and the allergy to scorpion venom.
But really, who was counting.
Lying in his bed in the near-dark, with his phone in his hand, he saw more hideous scenes of his time with the princess...her blowing him, him bending her over and fucking her from behind, his mouth working between her thighs. He remembered what it felt like when his cock's barb engaged and the two of them were locked together.
Then he thought of Ehlena taking his blood pressure...and how she'd stepped away from him.
She was right to do that.
He was wrong to call her.
With deliberate care, he moved his thumb around the buttons and accessed her contact information. He didn't pause as he erased her out of his phone, and as she disappeared, an unexpected warmth filled his chest-and told him that according to his mother's side, he'd done the right thing.
He would ask for another nurse the next time he went to the clinic. And, if he saw Ehlena again, he would leave her alone.
Trez came in with a tray of oatmeal, some tea, and some dry toast.
"Yum," Rehv said without enthusiasm.
"Be a good boy and finish that. Next meal I'll bring you bacon and eggs."
As the tray was settled over his legs, Rehv tossed the phone on the fur and picked up a spoon. Abruptly, and for absolutely, positively no reason at all, he said, "You ever been in love, Trez?"
"Nah." The Moor returned to his chair in the corner, the curved lamp illuminating his handsome, dark face. "I watched iAm give it a try and decided it wasn't for me."
"iAm? Get the fuck out. I didn't know your brother ever had a chippie."
"He doesn't talk about her, and I never met her. But he was miserable for a while in the way only a female can make a guy."
Rehv swirled around the brown sugar that was sprinkled on the top of his oatmeal. "You think you'll ever get mated?"
"Nope." Trez smiled, his perfect white teeth flashing. "Why the questions?"
Rehv brought the spoon to his mouth and ate. "No reason."
"Yeah. Right."
"This oatmeal's fantastic."
"You hate oatmeal."
Rehv laughed a little and kept on eating to shut himself up, thinking the subject of love was none of his business. But work sure as hell was.
"Anything happening at the clubs?" he asked.
"Smoothing sailing so far."
"Good."
Rehv slowly polished off the Quaker Oats, wondering to himself why, if everything was going fine and dandy down in Caldwell, he had a sinking feeling in his gut.
Probably the oatmeal, he thought. "You told Xhex I was okay, right?"
"Yeah," Trez said, picking up the book he'd been reading. "I lied."
Xhex sat behind her desk and stared up at two of her best bouncers, Big Rob and Silent Tom. They were humans, but they were smart, and in their low-hanging jeans, they gave off the perfect, deceptively laid-back vibe she was looking for.
"What can we do for you, boss?" Big Rob asked.
Leaning forward in her chair, she took out ten folded bills from the back pocket of her leathers. She was deliberate in revealing them, splitting them into two piles, and sliding them toward the men.
"I need you to do some off-the-books work."
Their nods were as fast as their hands on those Benjis. "Anything you like," Big Rob said.
"Back over the summer, we had a bartender who we fired for skimming. Guy named Grady. You remember him-"
"I saw that shit about Chrissy in the paper."
"Fucking bastard," Silent Tom chimed in for once.
Xhex was not surprised they knew the whole story. "I want you to find Grady." As Big Rob started cracking his knuckles, she shook her head. "Nope. The only thing you do is get me an address. If he sees you, you nod and walk it off. We clear? You do not so much as brush his sleeve."
Both of them smiled grimly. "No problem, boss," Big Rob murmured. "We'll save him for you."
"The CPD is looking for him as well."
"Bet they are."
"We don't want the police to know what you're doing."
"No problem."
"I'll take care of getting your shifts covered. Faster you find him, the happier I'll be."
Big Rob looked over at Silent Tom. After a moment, they took the bills she'd given them out of their pockets and slid them back across the table.
"We'll do right by Chrissy, boss. Don't you worry."
"With you guys on it, I won't."
The door closed behind them, and Xhex ran her palms up and down her thighs, forcing the cilices on her legs to go deeper into her flesh. She was burning with the need to get out there herself, but with Rehv up north and the deals that were going to be made tonight, she couldn't leave the club. Just as important, she couldn't do the legwork on Grady herself. That homicide detective was going to be watching her.
Shifting her eyes to the phone, she wanted to curse. Trez had called earlier to let her know that Rehv had made it through his business with the princess, and the sound of the Moor's voice had told her what his actual words had not: Rehv's body wasn't up for much more of the torture.
Yet another situation she was forced to ride out, sitting on her ass, waiting.
Powerless was not a state that worked for her, but when it came to the princess, she was used to feeling impotent. Way back over twenty years ago, when Xhex's choices had put them in this situation, Rehv had told her he would take care of things on one condition: She let him handle it his way without interfering. He'd made her swear to stay away, and though it killed her, she'd kept the promise and lived in the reality that Rehv had been forced into that bitch's hands because of her.
Goddamn it, she wished he'd lose it and lash out at her. Just once. Instead, he kept on putting up with it, paying her debt with his body.
She'd turned him into a whore.
Xhex left her office because she couldn't stand to spend any more time with herself, and out in the club she prayed for a skirmish in the general pop, like a love triangle imploding, where one guy bitch-slapped another over a chick with fish lips and plastic tits. Or maybe a bathroom tryst gone sour in the men's room on the mezzanine floor. Shit, she was so desperate she'd even take a drunk getting pissy about his Patr¨®n or some deep corner grind that crossed the line into penetration.
She needed to hit something, and her best chances were with the masses. If only there were-
Just her luck. Everyone was behaving themselves.
Miserable fuckers.
Eventually, she ended up in the VIP section because she was making the floor bouncers mental as she prowled around, trolling for a throw-down. And more to the point, she had to play muscle on a major deal.
As she walked past the velvet rope, her eyes went right to the Brotherhood's table. John Matthew and his buddies were not there, but then, this early, they'd be out hunting for lessers. Deep-throating Coronas would come later in the night, if at all.
She did not care whether John showed.
Whatsoever.
Walking up to iAm, she said, "We ready?"
The Moor nodded. "Rally's got the product ready. Buyers should be here in twenty minutes."
"Good."
Two six-figure deals for coke were being executed tonight, and with Rehv down for the count and Trez up north with him, she and iAm were in charge of the transactions. Although the money was going to change hands in the office, the product was going to be loaded into the cars in the back alley, because four kilos of pure South American dust wasn't the kind of thing she wanted dancing through the club. Shit, the fact that the buyers were coming in with cash in briefcases was enough of a problem.
Xhex was just at the office door when she caught sight of Marie-Terese easing up to a guy in a suit. The man was looking at her with awe and wonder, as if she were the female equivalent of a sports car someone had just given him the keys to.
Light glinted off the wedding band he wore as he reached for his wallet.
Marie-Terese shook her head and put her graceful hand out to stop him, then pulled the rapt guy to his feet and led the way to the private bathrooms in the back, where the cash would change hands.
Xhex turned around and found herself in front of the Brotherhood's table.
As she looked at where John Matthew usually sat, she thought about Marie-Terese's most current john. Xhex was willing to bet that SOB, who was about to shell out five hundred dollars to get sucked or fucked or maybe a thousand for both, didn't look at his wife with that kind of excitement and lust. It was the fantasy. He knew nothing about Marie-Terese, had no clue that two years ago her son had been abducted by her ex-husband and she was working off the cost of getting the kid back. To him, she was a gorgeous piece of meat, something to be played with and left behind. Neat. Clean.
All the johns were like that.
And so was Xhex's John. She was a fantasy to him. Nothing more. An erotic lie he called to mind to jerk off to-which actually wasn't something she blamed him for, because she was doing the same thing with him. And the irony was that he was one of the better lovers she'd ever had, although that was because she could do whatever she wanted to him for however long she needed to get sated, and there were never any complaints, reservations, or demands.
Neat. Clean. iAm's voice came over her earpiece. "Buyers just walked in."
"Perfect. Let's do this."
She would get through both of the deals, and then she had a private job of her own to do. Now, that was something to look forward to. By the end of the night, she was going to get exactly the kind of release she needed.
Across town, in a quiet cul-de-sac in a safe neighborhood, Ehlena was parked in front of a modest colonial, going nowhere fast.
The key wouldn't go into the ambulance's ignition.
Having gotten what should have been the hardest part of the trip over with, having delivered Stephan safely into the arms of his blooded relations, it was a surprise that getting the goddamn key in the frickin' ignition was more difficult.
"Come on..." Ehlena focused on steadying her hand. And ended up watching really closely as the slip of metal skipped around the hole it belonged in.
She sat back in the seat with a curse, knowing that she was adding to the misery in the house, that the ambulance parked right outside was just another loud, screaming declaration of the tragedy.
As if the family's beloved son's body weren't enough of one.
She turned her head and stared at the colonial's windows. Shadows moved around on the other side of gauze curtains.
After she'd backed into the driveway, Alix had gone inside and she'd waited in the cold night. A moment later, the garage door had trundled up, and Alix had come forward with an older male who looked a lot like Stephan. She had bowed and shaken his hand, then opened the ambulance's rear bay. The male had had to clamp a hand over his mouth as she and Alix wheeled the gurney out.
"My son..." he had moaned.
She would never forget the sound of that voice. Hollow. Hopeless. Heartbroken.
Stephan's father and Alix had carried him home, and just as at the morgue, moments later there had been a wail. This time, though, it had been a female's higher-pitched mourning call. Stephan's mother.
Alix had returned as Ehlena had pushed the gurney into the ambulance's belly, and he had been blinking fast, like if he was facing a stiff headwind. After paying her respects and saying good-bye to him, she'd gotten behind the wheel and...not been able to start the damn vehicle.
On the other side of the gauze curtains, she saw two shapes cleave together. And then it was three. And then more came.
For no evident reason, she thought of the windows in the house she rented for her and her father, all of them covered with aluminum foil, sealing out the world.
Who would stand over her wrapped body when her life ended? Her father knew who she was most of the time, but he wasn't connected to her more than rarely. The staff at the clinic were very kind, but that was work, not personal. Lusie was paid to come when she did.
Who would take care of her father?
She'd always assumed he would go first, but then, no doubt Stephan's family had thought along the same lines.
Ehlena looked away from the mourners and stared out the ambulance's front windshield.
Life was too short, no matter how long you lived. When it was their turn, she didn't think anybody was ready to leave their friends and their family and the things that made them happy, be they five hundred years old, like her father, or fifty years, like Stephan.
Time was an endless source of days and nights only for the galaxy at large.
It made her wonder: What the hell was she doing with the time she had? Her job gave her a purpose, sure, and she took care of her father, which was what one did for family. But where was she going? Nowhere. And not just because she was sitting in this ambulance with hands that shook so badly she couldn't work a key.
The thing was, it wasn't that she wanted to change everything. She just wanted something for herself, something that made her know she was alive.
Rehvenge's deep amethyst eyes came at her from out of nowhere, and like a camera pulling back, she saw his carved face and his mohawk and his fine clothes and his cane.
This time, when she reached forward with the key, the thing went in steadily, and the diesel engine came awake on a growl. As the heater blasted cold air at her, she turned down the fan, then put the gearshift in drive and left the house and the cul-de-sac and the neighborhood.
Which no longer seemed quiet to her.
Behind the wheel, she was driving and out of it at the same time, caught up in the image of a male she couldn't have, but at the moment needed like crazy.
Her feelings were wrong on so many levels. For God's sake, they were a betrayal of Stephan, even though she didn't really know him. It just seemed disrespectful to be wanting another male while his body was being mourned by his blood.
Except she would have wanted Rehvenge anyway.
"Damn it."
The clinic was all the way across the river, and she was glad, because she couldn't face work right away. She was too raw and sad and angry at herself.
What she needed was...
Starbucks. Oh, yeah, that was exactly what she needed.
About five miles away, in a square that was home to a Hannaford supermarket, a flower shop, a LensCrafters boutique, and a Blockbuster store, she found a Starbucks that was open until two a.m. She pulled the ambulance around to the side and got out.
When she'd left the clinic with Alix and Stephan, she hadn't thought to bring her coat, so she huddled into her purse and hotfooted it over the sidewalk and through the door. Inside, the place was as most of them were: red wooden trim, dark gray tile floor, with a lot of windows, stuffed chairs, and little tables. Over at the counter there were mugs for sale, a glass display of lemon squares and brownies and scones, and two humans in their early twenties manning the coffee machines. The smell in the air was hazelnut and coffee and chocolate, and the aroma wiped the lingering herbal bouquet of the death wraps from her nose.
"C'I help you?" the taller guy asked.
"Vente latte, foam, no whip. Double cup, double sleeve."
The human male smiled at her and lingered. He had a dark brush-cut beard and a nose ring, his shirt splashed with graphics that spelled out TOMATO EATER in drops of what could have been blood or, given the band's name, ketchup. "You like anything else? The cinnamon scones totally rock."
"No, thanks."
His eyes stayed on her as he worked her order, and to keep from having to deal with the attention, she went into her purse and checked her phone in case Lusie-
MISSED CALL. View now?
She hit yes, praying it wasn't something about her father-
Rehvenge's number came up, although not his name, because she hadn't put him in her phone. She stared at the digits.
God, it was like he'd read her mind.
"Your latte? Hello?"
"Sorry." She put her phone back, took what the guy held out to her, and thanked him.
"I double-cupped just like you wanted. The sleeve, too."
"Thanks."
"Hey, you work at one of the hospitals around here?" he said, eyeing her uniform.
"Private clinic. Thanks again."
She left quickly and didn't waste time getting into the ambulance. Back behind the wheel, she hit the locks on the doors, started the engine, and turned the heater on immediately, because the air coming out was still warm.
The latte was really good. Superhot. Tasted perfect.
She got her phone again and went into the received-calls log and fired up Rehvenge's number.
She took a deep breath and a long pull on the latte.
And hit send.
Destiny had a 518 area code. Who knew.
Chapter TWENTY
Lash parked the Mercedes 550 under one of Caldwell's bridges, the black sedan indistinguishable from the shadows thrown by the mammoth concrete supports. The digital clock on the dash told him that showtime was getting close.
Assuming there had been no fuckups.
As he waited, he thought about the meeting with the head of the symphaths. In retrospect, he really didn't like the way the guy made him feel. He fucked chicks. Period. No guys. Ever.
That kind of shit was for cock jockeys like John and his weak-ass crew.
Switching tracks in his mind, Lash smiled in the darkness, thinking he couldn't wait to reintroduce himself to those motherfuckers. In the beginning, right after he'd been brought back by his real father, he'd wanted to rush it. After all, John and his boys no doubt still hung out at ZeroSum, so finding them wouldn't be a problem. But timing was everything. Lash was still figuring shit out with this new life of his, and he wanted to be solid when he crushed John and killed Blay in front of Qhuinn, then slaughtered the fucker who'd murdered him.
Timing mattered.
As if on cue, two cars pulled up between some pylons. The Ford Escort was the Lessening Society's, and the silver Lexus was Grady's wholesaler's car.
Sweet rims on the LS 600h. Very sweet.
Grady was the first to get out of the Escort, and when Mr. D and the other two lessers followed, it was like watching the evac of a clown car, given the amount of meat that had been stuffed inside.
As they approached the Lexus, two men wearing slick winter coats got out of the 600h. In sync, the human males both put their right hands into their jackets, and all Lash could think of was, Better guns than badges coming out of those breast pockets. If Grady had fucked up and those were undercover cops pulling a modern day Crockett and Tubbs, things were going to get complicated.
But no...no CPD shields, just some conversation on the part of the coats, no doubt along the lines of, Who the fuck are those three ass-wipes you brought with you to a private business transaction?
Grady looked back at Mr. D with out-of-his-league panic, and the little Texan took the reins, stepping forward with an aluminum briefcase. After he put the case on the trunk of the Lexus, he popped it open to reveal what appeared to be stacks of hundred-dollar bills. In reality, they were just bundles of ones with a single Benji on the top of each stack. The coats looked down-
Pop. Pop.
Grady jumped back as the dealers hit the ground like mops, and his mouth opened wide as a toilet bowl. Before he could get a whole lot of oh-my-God-what-did-you-do rolling, Mr. D stepped up into his grille and bitch-slapped his lid shut.
The two slayers put their guns back into their leather jackets as Mr. D closed the suitcase, went around, and got behind the wheel of the Lexus. While he drove off, Grady looked up into the faces of the pale men like he was waiting to get plugged himself.
Instead, they just headed back to the Escort.
After a moment of confusion, Grady followed in a sloppy jog like all his joints had been overoiled, but when he went to open the back door, the slayers refused to let him get in the car. As Grady realized he was getting left behind, he started to panic, his arms flopping, his mouth shouting. Which was pretty fucking dumb, considering he was standing fifteen feet away from two guys with bullets in their brains.
Quiet would be good right about now.
Evidently one of the slayers thought the same thing. With a calm hand, he outted his gun and leveled the muzzle at Grady's head.
Silence. Stillness. At least from the idiot.
Two doors shut and the Escort's engine turned over on a crank and a wheeze. With a buzz of tires, the slayers took off, speckling Grady's boots and shins with frozen dirt.
Lash hit the Mercedes' lights, and Grady spun around, arms going up to shield his eyes.
There was the temptation to mow him down, but for the moment, the guy's utility justified his heartbeat.
Lash started the Mercedes, pulled up to the SOB, and dropped his window down. "Get in the car."
Grady lowered his arms. "What the hell happened-"
"Shut the fuck up. Get in the car."
Lash closed the window and waited while Grady flopped into the passenger seat. As the guy put his belt on, his teeth were doing the castanets, and not from the cold. Fucker was the color of salt, and sweating like a tranny in Giants Stadium.
"You might as well have killed 'em in broad daylight," Grady stammered as they headed out onto the surface road that ran beside the river. "There are eyes all over the place-"
"Which was the point." Lash's phone rang, and he answered as he accelerated up a ramp and onto the highway. "Very nice, Mr. D."
"I think we done good," the Texan said. "'Cept I can't see no drugs. Must be in the trunk."
"They're in that car. Somewhere."
"We still meetin' back at Hunterbred?"
"Yes."
"Hey, ah, listen, y'all plannin' on doin' anything with this here car?"
Lash smiled in the darkness, thinking greed was a great weakness for a subordinate to have. "I'm getting it repainted and buying a VIN and tags for it."
There was silence, as if the lesser were waiting for more. "Oh, that'll be good. Y'sir."
Lash hung up on his disciple and turned to Grady. "I want to know all of the other big retailers in town. Their names, their territories, their product lines, everything."
"I don't know if I got all that-"
"You'd better find it out then." Lash tossed his phone into the guy's lap. "Make the calls you need to. Do the digging. I want every single dealer in town. Then I want the elephant that's feeding them. The Caldwell wholesaler."
Grady's head fell back against the seat. "Shit. I thought this was going to be, like...about my business."
"That was your second mistake. Start dialing and get me what I want."
"Look...I don't think this is...I should probably go home..."
Lash smiled at the guy, revealing his fangs and flashing his eyes. "You are home."
Grady shrank back in the seat, then started pawing for the door handle, even though they were cruising down the highway at seventy miles an hour.
Lash hit the locks. "Sorry, you're on the ride now, and there's no getting off in the middle. Now dial the fucking phone and do me right. Or I'm going to carve you up piece by piece and enjoy every second of the screaming."
Wrath stood outside Safe Place in a ball-numbing wind, not caring two shits about the nasty weather. Rising before him like something out of a Leave It to Beaver Rockwell daydream, the house that was a haven to victims of domestic violence was big and rambling and welcoming, the windows covered with quilted drapery, a wreath on the door, the mat on the top step reading WELCOME in cursive letters.
As a male, he couldn't go inside, so he waited like lawn sculpture on the hard brown grass, praying that his beloved leelan was inside-and willing to see him.
After having spent all day in the study hoping that Beth would come to him, he'd finally gone through the mansion searching her out. When he hadn't found her, he'd prayed she was volunteering here, as she often did.
Marissa appeared on the back stoop and shut the door behind herself. Butch's shellan and Wrath's former blood mate looked typically professional in her black slacks and jacket, her blond hair twisted into an elegant chignon, her scent like the ocean.
"Beth just left," she said as he walked over to her.
"She go back home?"
"Redd Avenue."
Wrath stiffened. "What the...Why's she over there?" Shit, his shellan out alone in Caldwell? "You mean at her old apartment?"
Marissa nodded. "I think she wanted to go back to where things started."
"Is she alone?"
"As far as I know."
"Jesus Christ, she's already been abducted once," he snapped. As Marissa recoiled, he cursed himself. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm not real rational right now."
After a moment, Marissa smiled. "This is going to sound bad, but I'm glad you're frantic. You deserve to be."
"Yeah, I was a shit. Big-time."
Marissa tilted her head up to the sky. "On that note, a word of advice when you go over to her."
"Hit me."
Her perfect face leveled again, and as she refocused on him, her voice grew rueful. "Try not to be angry. You look like an ogre when you're pissed, and right now, Beth needs to be reminded of why she should let her guard down around you, not why she shouldn't."
"Good point."
"Be well, my lord."
He nodded to her with a quick bob of the head and dematerialized directly to the Redd Avenue address where Beth had had an apartment when they'd first met. As he went, he got a good goddamn taste of what his shellan had to deal with every night he was out in the city. Dearest Virgin Scribe, how did she deal with the fear? The idea that everything might not be all right? The fact that there was more danger to be found out where he was than safety?
As he took form in front of the apartment building, he thought of the night he had gone to find her after her father's death. He'd been a reluctant, unsuitable savior, tasked by his friend's last will and testament to see her through her transition-when she hadn't even known what she was.
His first approach hadn't gone well, but the second time he'd tried to talk to her? That had gone very well.
God, he wanted to be with her again like that. Naked skin on naked skin, moving together, him deep inside of her, marking her as his.
But that was a long way off, assuming it ever even happened again.
Wrath walked around to the backyard; his shitkickers were quiet, his shadow large on the frosty ground beneath his feet.
Beth was huddled on a rickety picnic table he'd once sat on himself, and she was staring into the apartment straight ahead just as he had when he'd come for her. Cold wind blew her dark hair around, making it seem as if she were underwater and swimming amid strong currents.
His scent must have carried over to her, because her head snapped around. As she looked at him, she sat up straighter and kept her arms locked around the North Face parka he'd bought her.
"What are you doing here?" she said.
"Marissa told me where you were." He glanced at the apartment's sliding glass door, then back at her. "Mind if I join you?"
"Ah...okay. That's fine." She shuffled over a little as he came to her. "I wasn't going to be here long."
"No?"
"I was going to come see you. I wasn't sure when you were going out to fight and thought maybe there was time before...But then, I don't know, I..."
As she let the sentence drift, he got up on the table beside her, the supports squeaking as the thing accepted his heft. He wanted to put an arm around her, but hung back and hoped the parka was doing its job to keep her warm enough.
In the silence, words buzzed in his head, all of them of the apologetic variety, all of them bullshit. He'd already said he was sorry, and she knew he meant it, and it was going to be a long time before he stopped wishing there were more he could do to make it up to her.
On this cold night, as they sat suspended between their past and their future, all he could do was sit with her and stare at the darkened windows of the apartment she had once lived in...back before fate had put them together.
"I don't remember being especially happy in there," she said softly.
"No?"
She swept her hand across her face, clearing wisps of hair from her eyes. "I didn't like coming home from work and being there alone. Thank God for Boo. Without that cat? I mean, TV only does so much for a person."
He hated that she had been on her own. "So you don't wish you could go back?"
"Christ, no."
Wrath exhaled. "I'm glad."
"I was working for that leering asshole, Dick, at the paper, doing the jobs of three people, getting nowhere because I was a young woman and the good old boys didn't have a club-they were in a cabal." She shook her head. "But you know what the worst of it was?"
"What?"
"I was living with this sense that there was something going on, something important, but I didn't know what it was. It was like...I knew the secret was there, and it was a dark one, but I just couldn't reach it. Nearly drove me mad."
"So finding out you weren't just a human was-"
"These last months with you have been worse." She looked over at him. "When I think back over the fall...I knew something was wrong. In the back of my mind, I knew it, I could absolutely sense it. You stopped coming to bed regularly, and if you did, it wasn't to sleep. You couldn't settle. You didn't really eat. You never fed. The kingship always stressed you, but these last couple of months have been different." She went back to staring at her old apartment. "I knew it, but I didn't want to face the reality that you might actually be lying to me about something as significant and terrifying as you going out alone to fight."
"Shit, I didn't mean to do that to you."
Her profile was both beautiful and hard as she continued. "I think that's part of the head fuck I've got going on now. The whole thing takes me back to the way I used to live every day of my life. After I went through the change and you and I moved in with the Brothers, I was so relieved, because I finally knew for sure what I'd always wondered about. The truth was incredibly grounding. It made me feel safe." She turned back to him. "This thing with you? The lying? I don't feel like I can trust my reality again. I just don't feel safe. I mean, my whole world is about you. My whole world. It's all based on you, because our mating is the foundation of my life. So this is about so much more than you fighting."
"Yeah." Fuck. What the hell did he say?
"I know you had your reasons."
"Yeah."
"And I know you didn't mean to hurt me." This was spoken with a lift at the end, the words a question, rather than a statement.
"I absolutely didn't mean to."
"But you knew it would, didn't you."
Wrath put his elbows on his knees and leaned into his heavy arms. "Yeah, I did. That's why I haven't been sleeping. It felt wrong not to tell you."
"Were you afraid I'd refuse to let you go out or something? That I'd turn you in for violating the law? Or...?"
"Here's the thing... At the end of every night I came home and told myself I wasn't doing it again. And every sunset I found myself strapping on my daggers. I didn't want you to worry, and I told myself I didn't think it would continue. But you were right to call me on that. I had no plans to stop." He rubbed his eyes under his wraparounds as his head started to pound. "It was so wrong, and I couldn't face up to what I was doing to you. It was killing me."
Her hand went to his leg and he froze, her kind touch more than he deserved. As she stroked his thigh a little, he dropped his sunglasses back in place and carefully captured her hand.
Neither said a thing as they held on to each other, palm-to-palm.
Sometimes words were less valuable than the air that carried them when it came to getting close.
As the cold wind blew across the backyard, causing some brown leaves to crackle by in front of them, the lights went on in Beth's old place, illumination flooding the galley kitchen and the single main room.
Beth laughed a little. "They put their furniture right where mine was, the futon against that one long wall."
Which meant they had a full view of the couple who came stumbling into the studio and beelined for the bed. The humans were locked lip-to-lip, hip-to-hip, and they landed on the futon in a messy scramble, the man mounting the woman.
As if embarrassed by the show, Beth got off the table and cleared her throat. "I guess I'd better get back to Safe Place."
"I'm off rotation tonight. I'll be at home, you know, all night."
"That's good. Try to get some rest."
God, the distance was horrid, but at least they were talking. "You want me to see you back there?"
"I'll be fine." Beth burrowed into her parka, her face sinking into the down collar. "Man, it's cold."
"Yeah. It is." As the time for parting came, he was anxious about where they stood, and fear made his vision fairly clear. God, how he hated the lonely look on her face. "You can't know how sorry I am."
Beth reached up and touched his jaw. "I hear it in your voice."
He took her hand and placed it over his heart. "I'm nothing without you."
"Not true." She stepped out of his hold. "You are the king. No matter who your shellan is, you are everything."
Beth dematerialized into the thin air, her vital, warm presence replaced with nothing but frigid December wind.
Wrath waited for about two minutes; then he dematerialized to Safe Place. She had so much of his blood in her after all their time of feeding from each other that he sensed her presence inside the stout walls of the security-laden facility, and he knew she was protected.
With a heavy heart, Wrath dematerialized again and headed back to the mansion: He had stitches to get removed and a whole night to pass alone in his study.
