Chapter THIRTEEN
As Rehvenge's hi came through the phone, Ehlena sat up from the pillow she'd been lying against and swallowed back a holy crap... except then she wondered why she was so surprised. She'd called him, and the textbook way people handled those kind of things was...well, hey, they called you back. Wow.
"Hi," she said.
"I didn't answer your call only because I didn't know the number."
Man, his voice was sexy. Deep. Low. Like a male's should be.
In the silence that followed, she thought, and she had called him why? Oh, right. "I wanted to follow up about your appointment. When I did your discharge papers, I noticed that you received nothing for your arm."
"Ah."
The pause that followed was one she couldn't interpret. Maybe he was pissed she was interfering? "I just want to make sure you're okay."
"Do you do this with patients a lot?"
"Yes," she lied.
"Havers know you're checking his work?"
"Did he even look at your veins?"
Rehvenge's laugh was low. "I would rather you had called for a different reason."
"I don't understand," she said tightly.
"What? That someone might want to have something to do with you outside of work? You're not blind. You've seen yourself in mirrors. And surely you know you're smart, so it's not all just pretty window dressing."
As far as she was concerned, he was speaking in a foreign language. "I don't understand why you're not taking care of yourself."
"Hmmm." He laughed softly, and she felt the purr as well as heard it in her ear. "Oh...so maybe this is a pretense just so I can see you again."
"Look, the only reason I called was-"
"Because you needed an excuse. You shut me down in the exam room, but really wanted to talk to me. So you called about my arm to get me on the phone. And now you have me." That voice dropped even lower. "Do I get to pick what you do with me?"
She stayed quiet. Until he said, "Hello?"
"Are you finished? Or do you want to run around in circles a little longer, reading into what I'm doing here?"
There was a beat of silence, and then he broke out in a rich baritone belly laugh. "I knew there was more than one reason I liked you."
She refused to be charmed. And was anyway. "I called about your arm. Period. My father's nurse just left, and she and I were talking about his..."
She clammed up as she realized what she'd revealed, feeling like she'd tripped on the conversational equivalent of an untacked carpet edge.
"Go on," he said with gravity. "Please.
"Ehlena? Ehlena...
"Are you there, Ehlena?"
Later, much later, she would reflect that those four words were the precipice. Are you there, Ehlena?
Truly it was the beginning of everything that followed, the starting line of a harrowing journey disguised in the form of a simple question.
She was glad she didn't know where it would take her. Because sometimes the only thing that got you through hell was that you were in too deep to pull out.
While Rehv waited for a response, his fist tightened on the cell phone so hard, it cranked in toward his cheek and one of the keys let out a beep of, Hey, man, lay off a little.
The electronic curse seemed to break the spell for them both.
"Sorry," he muttered.
"It's okay. I, ah..."
"You were saying?"
He didn't expect her to answer, but then...she did. "My father's nurse and I were talking about a cut he's having trouble with, and that's what made me think of your arm."
"Your father is ill?"
"Yes."
Rehv waited for more, trying to decide whether prompting her would shut her up-but she solved the issue.
"Some of the medications he takes make him unsteady, so he bumps into things and doesn't always know he's hurt himself. It's a problem."
"I'm sorry. Caring for him must be hard on you."
"I'm a nurse."
"And a daughter."
"So it was clinical. When I called you."
Rehv smiled. "Let me ask you something."
"Me first. Why won't you get your arm looked at? And don't tell me Havers saw those veins. If he had, he would have prescribed you antibiotics, and if you refused them there would have been a note in your chart that you'd pulled an AMA. Look, all you need to treat it is some pills, and I know you're not medicine phobic. You take a hell of a lot of dopamine."
"If you were worried about my arm, why didn't you just talk to me at the clinic?"
"I did, remember."
"Not like this." Rehv smiled in the dark and ran his hand up and down the mink duvet. He couldn't feel it, but he imagined the pelts were as soft as her hair. "I still think you wanted to get me on the phone."
The pause that followed made him worry she was going to pull out of the call.
He sat up, like getting vertical would keep her from hitting her end button. "I'm only saying...well, shit, my point is, I'm glad you called. Whatever the reason."
"I didn't talk to you at the clinic about it any further because you left before I entered Havers's notes into the computer. That's when it all sank in."
He still wasn't buying that the call was completely professional. She could have e-mailed him. She could have told the doctor. Could have turfed it to one of the day nurses to follow up.
"So there's no chance you feel bad for slamming me down as hard as you did?"
She cleared her throat. "I am sorry for that."
"Well, I forgive you. Totally. Completely. You looked like you were not having a great night."
Her exhale was exhaustion made manifest. "Yeah, it wasn't my best."
"Why?"
Another long pause. "You are much better over the phone, you know that?"
He laughed. "Much better how?"
"Easier to talk to. You're actually...pretty easy to talk to."
"I do okay with the one-on-one."
Abruptly he frowned, thinking of the bookie he'd tuned up out in the office. Shit, that poor bastard was just one in a huge number of drug dealers and Vegas lackeys and bartenders and pimps he'd beaten into conversating over the years. His philosophy had always been that confession was good for the soul, especially when it came to scumbags who thought he wouldn't notice they were fucking him. His management style also sent an important message in a business where weakness got you killed: Back-alley commerce required a strong hand, and he'd always believed that was just the reality in which he lived.
Now though, in this quiet time, with Ehlena so close, he felt like his "one-on-ones" were something to apologize for and conceal.
"So why was tonight not so good?" he asked, desperate to shut himself the fuck up.
"My father. And then...well, I got stood up."
Rehv frowned so hard he actually felt a slight sting between his eyes. "For a date?"
"Yeah."
He hated the idea of her out with another male. And yet envied the motherfucker, whoever he was. "What an ass. I'm sorry, but what an ass."
Ehlena laughed, and he loved everything about the sound, especially the way his body warmed a little more in response. Man, to hell with a hot shower. That soft, quiet chuckle was what he needed.
"Are you smiling," he said softly.
"Yeah. I mean, I guess. How did you know?"
"Was just hoping you were."
"Well, you can be kind of charming." Quickly, as if to cover up the compliment, she said, "The date wasn't a big deal or anything. I didn't know him that well. It was just coffee."
"But you ended the night on the phone with me. Which is so much better."
She laughed again. "Well, I won't ever know what it's like to go out with him."
"You won't?"
"I just...well, I thought about it, and I don't think dating is a good idea for me right now." His surge of triumph was sacked when she tacked on, "With anyone."
"Hm."
"Hm? What does hm mean?"
"It means I have your phone number."
"Ah, yes, you do-" Her voice caught as he shifted around. "Wait, are you...in bed?"
"Yeah. And before you go any farther, you don't want to know."
"I don't want to know what?"
"How much I'm not wearing."
"Er..." As she hesitated, he knew she was smiling again. And probably blushing. "I so won't ask."
"Wise of you. It's just me and the sheets-oops, did I just spill that?"
"Yes. Yes, you did." Her voice got a little lower, as if she were imagining him naked. And not minding the mental pinup in the slightest.
"Ehlena..." He stopped himself, his symphath urges giving him the self-control to slow down. Yes, Rehv wanted her as naked as he was. But even more than that, he wanted her on the phone.
"What?" she said.
"Your father...has he been ill for long?"
"I, ah...yes, yes, he has. He's schizophrenic. We've got him on meds now, though, and he's better."
"God...damn. That's got to be really difficult. Because he's there but he's not there, right."
"Yes...that's exactly what it feels like."
It was kind of the way he went through life, his symphath side a constant, other reality that dogged him as he tried to get through the nights as a normal.
"So do you mind if I ask," she said with care, "what you need the dopamine for? There's no immediate diagnosis in your medical record."
"Probably because Havers has been treating me forever."
Ehlena laughed awkwardly. "Guess that must be why."
Shit, what the hell did he tell her.
The symphath in him said, Whatever, just lie to her. Trouble was, from out of nowhere there was another competing voice in his brain, one that was unfamiliar and faint, but utterly compelling. Because he had no idea what it was, however, he led with his routine.
"I have Parkinson's. Or the vampire equivalent of it, as it were."
"Oh...I'm sorry. That's the cane you use, then."
"My balance is bad."
"The dopamine's doing you well, though. You have almost no tremors."
That quiet voice in his head morphed into an odd ache in the center of his chest, and for a moment he dropped pretense and actually spoke the truth. "I have no idea what I would do without that drug."
"My father's medications have been a miracle."
"Are you his sole caretaker?" When she mm-hmed, he asked, "Where is the rest of your family?"
"It's just him and me."
"So you're carrying a hell of a burden."
"Well, I love him. And if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. It's what parents and children do for each other."
"Not always. Clearly you come from good people." Before he could stop himself, he continued, "But that's why you're lonely, isn't it. You get guilty if you leave him even for an hour, except if you stay home you can't ignore the fact that your life is passing you by. You're trapped and screaming, but you wouldn't change a thing."
"I have to go."
Rehv squeezed his eyes shut, that ache in his chest spreading through his whole body like wildfire across dry grass. He willed a light on as the darkness became too symbolic of his own existence.
"It's just...I know what it's like, Ehlena. Not for the same reasons...but I get that whole separated thing. You know, the idea that you're watching everybody else go through life... Oh, fuck, whatever. I hope you sleep well-"
"That is how I feel a lot of the time." Her voice was gentle now, and he was glad she got what he'd been trying to say, even though he'd been as eloquent as an alley cat.
Now he was the one who grew awkward. He wasn't used to talking like this...or feeling as he did. "Listen, I'm going to let you get some rest. I'm glad you called."
"You know...so am I."
"And, Ehlena?"
"Yes?"
"I think you're right. It's not a good idea for you to get involved with anyone right now."
"Really?"
"Yup. Good day."
There was a pause. "Good...day. Wait-"
"What?"
"Your arm. What are you going to do about your arm?"
"Don't worry, it'll be fine. But thank you for the concern. It means a lot."
Rehv hung up first and put the phone down on the mink duvet. Closing his eyes, he left the light on. And didn't sleep at all.
Chapter FOURTEEN
Back at the Brotherhood compound, Wrath gave up the idea that he was going to feel better about the situation with Beth anytime soon. Hell, he could spend the next month stewing on his spindly chair, but that would only get him a numb ass.
And meanwhile, the rolling stones out in the hall were getting mossy and cranky.
He willed the double doors wide and as a unit his brothers came to attention. As he looked across the pale blue expanse of the study to their big, hard bodies out by the balcony, he knew them not by face or clothing or expression, but by the echo of each one in his blood.
The ceremonies in the Tomb that had bound them all together resonated no matter how long ago they had been done.
"Don't just stand there," he said as the Brotherhood stared back at him. "I didn't open those fuckers to turn myself into a zoo exhibit."
The brothers came in on their heavy boots-except for Rhage, who was in flip-flops, his standard house footwear no matter the season. Each of the warriors took up his usual station in the room, with Z going over to stand by the fireplace and V and Butch parking it on a recently reinforced pencil-legged sofa. Rhage came over to the desk in a series of flip-flip-flips and hit speaker on the phone, letting his fingers do the walking to get Phury on the horn.
No one said anything about all the papers on the floor. No one tried to pick them up. It was as if the mess weren't there, and that was how Wrath preferred it.
As he shut the doors with his mind, he thought of Tohr. The brother was in the house, just down the hall of statues by only a few doors, but he was on a different continent. Inviting him wasn't an option-more like a cruelty, given where his head was at.
"Hello?" came Phury's voice out of the phone.
"We're all here," Rhage said before unwrapping a Tootsie Pop and flip-flip-flipping it over to an ugly-ass green armchair.
The monstrosity was Tohr's, moved up from the office for John Matthew to sleep in back after Wellsie had been murdered and Tohrment had disappeared. Rhage tended to use the thing because at his weight, it was really the safest option for his ass, steel-bolted sofas included.
With everyone settled, the room went quiet except for the crunching grind of Hollywood's molars on that cherry thing he had in his piehole.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Rhage finally groaned around his lollipop. "Just tell us. Whatever it is. I'm getting ready to scream over here. Is someone dead?"
No, but it sure as shit felt like he'd killed something.
Wrath glanced in the brother's direction, then looked at each one of them. "I'm going to be your partner, Hollywood."
"Partner? As in..." Rhage glanced around the room as if checking to see whether everyone else had heard what he had. "You ain't talking about gin rummy, are you."
"No," Z said quietly. "I don't believe he is."
"Holy. Shit." Rhage took another lollipop out of the pocket of his black fleece. "Is this legal?"
"It is now," V muttered.
Phury spoke up from the phone. "Wait, wait...is this to replace me?"
Wrath shook his head even though the Brother couldn't see him. "It's to replace a lot of people we've lost."
Conversation bubbled up like a can of Coke had just been cracked open. Butch, V, Z, Rhage all started talking at once until a tinny voice cut through the chatter:
"I want to come back, too, then."
Everyone looked at the phone-except for Wrath, who stared over at Z in order to gauge the guy's reaction. Zsadist had no trouble showing anger. Ever. But he hid concern and worry like the stuff was loose money and he was surrounded by muggers: As his twin's statement resonated, he was in full self-protection mode, tightening up, emitting absolutely nothing in terms of emotion.
Ah, right, Wrath thought. The tough-skinned bastard was scared cockless.
"You sure that's a good idea," Wrath said slowly. "Maybe fighting isn't what you need right now, my brother."
"I haven't toked up in nearly four months," Phury said through the speaker. "And I've got no plans to go back to the drugging."
"Stress won't make that shit any easier."
"Oh, but sitting on my ass while you're out there will?"
Wonderful. The king and the Primale in the field for the first time in history. And why? Because the Brotherhood was on its last gasp.
Great record to break there. Kind of like winning the fifty-meter ass-stroke in the Loser-lympics.
Christ.
Except then Wrath thought of that dead civilian. Was that a better outcome? No.
Leaning back in his delicate chair, he stared hard at Z.
As if he felt the eyes on him, Zsadist stepped free of the mantel and stalked around the study. They all knew what he was picturing: Phury ODed on a bathroom floor, an empty heroin syringe next to him on the tile.
"Z?" came Phury's voice over the phone. "Z? Pick up the handset."
When Zsadist got on with his twin, his face, with its jagged scar, drew into such a nasty frown even Wrath could see the glare. And the expression didn't improve as he said, "Uh-huh. Yeah. Uh-huh. I know. Right." There was a long, long pause. "No, I'm still here. Okay. All right."
Pause. "Swear to me. On my daughter's life."
After a moment, Z hit the speaker again, put the handset back in place, and returned to the fireplace.
"I'm in," Phury said.
Wrath shifted in the pansy chair, wishing so many things were different. "You know, maybe in another time, I might have told you to back off. Now, I'll just say...When can you start."
"Nightfall. I'll leave Cormia in charge of the Chosen while I'm out in the field."
"Your female going to be tight with this?"
There was a pause. "She knows who she mated. And I'm going to be honest with her."
Ouch.
"Now I have a question," Z said softly. "It's about the dried blood on your shirt, Wrath."
Wrath cleared his throat. "I've been back for a while now, actually. With the fighting."
The temperature in the room dropped. Which was Z and Rhage getting pissed off that they hadn't known.
And then suddenly, Hollywood cursed. "Wait...wait. You two knew...you knew before us, didn't you. 'Cause neither of you look surprised."
Butch cleared his throat like he was getting glared at. "He needed me on cleanup. And V's tried to change his mind."
"How long ago did this start, Wrath?" Rhage bit out.
"Since Phury stopped fighting."
"Are you kidding me."
Z stalked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and even though the shutters were down, he stared at the thing as if he could see the grounds beyond. "Good goddamn thing you didn't get yourself killed out there."
Wrath bared his fangs. "You think I fight like a pussy just because I'm behind this desk now?"
Phury's voice rose up from the phone. "Okay, everyone just relax. We all know now, and things are going to be different going forward. No one's going to fight alone, even if we go in threes. But I need to know, is this going to be common knowledge? Are you going to announce it at the council meeting the night after tomorrow?"
Man, that happy little face-to-face was not something he was looking forward to. "I think we'll keep it quiet for now."
"Yeah," Z bit out, "'cuz really, why be honest."
Wrath ignored that. "I'm going to tell Rehvenge, though. I know there are members of the glymera who are grumbling about the raids. If it gets to be too much, he'll be able to calm things down with that kind of intel."
"Are we done here," Rhage said in a flat tone.
"Yeah. That's it."
"I'm outtie then."
Hollywood stalked from the room, and Z was right behind him, two more casualties of the bomb Wrath had dropped.
"So how'd Beth take it?" V asked.
"How do you think." Wrath got to his feet and followed the example set by the pair who had left.
Time to go find Doc Jane and get stitched up, assuming the slices hadn't already closed.
He needed to be ready to go out and fight again tomorrow.
In the cold, bright morning light, Xhex dematerialized past a high wall and into the bare branches of a stout maple tree. The mansion beyond rested in its landscaped acreage like a gray pearl in a filigree setting, wiry winter-stripped specimen trees rising up around the old stone manse, anchoring it to its rolling lawn, holding it to the earth.
The weak December sun poured down, making what would have been dour at night seem merely venerable and distinguished.
Her sunglasses were nearly black, the one concession she needed to make to her vampire side if she went out during the day. Behind the lenses, her vision remained acute, and she saw every motion detector and every security light and every leaded-glass window that was covered by a shutter.
Getting in was going to be a challenge. The panes of those fuckers were no doubt reinforced with steel, which meant dematerializing in even if the shutters were up was a no-go. And with her symphath side, she sensed there were a lot of people inside: The staff in the kitchen. The ones sleeping upstairs. The others moving around. It was not a happy house, the emotional grids left by the people inside full of dark, heavy feelings.
Xhex dematerialized to the roof of the main section of the mansion, throwing out a symphath version of mhis. It wasn't a complete erase, more like she became a shadow among the shadows thrown by the chimneys and the HVAC shit, but it was enough to buy her a pass of the motion detectors.
Approaching a ventilation duct, she found a steel mesh plate thick as a ruler that was bolted into the metal sidewalls. Chimney was the same. Capped with stout steel.
Not a shocker. They had very good security here.
Her best shot at penetration was going to be at night, using a small, battery-operated Sawzall against one of the windows. The servants' quarters in the back would be a good place for entry, given that the staff would be on duty and that part of the house would be quieter.
Get in. Find the target. Eliminate.
The instructions from Rehv were to leave a loud corpse, so she wouldn't bother hiding or disposing of the body.
As she walked across the small pebbles that covered the roof, the cilices around her thighs bit into her muscles with each step, the pain draining her of a measure of energy and providing a necessary focus-both of which helped keep her symphath urges chained in her brain's backyard.
The barbed strips would not be on when she went out to do the job.
Xhex paused and looked up at the sky. The dry, slicing wind promised snow, and soon. Winter's deep freeze was coming to Caldwell.
But had been in her heart for ages.
Down beneath her, under her feet, she sensed the people again, reading their emotions, feeling them. She would kill them all if she was asked to. Slaughter them without thought or hesitation as they lay in their beds or went about their staff duties or copped a midday snack or rose for a quick piss before going back to sleep.
The messy, sloppy residue of demise, all that blood, didn't bother her, either, any more than an H amp;K or a Glock would give a shit about carpet stains or smudges on tile or leaking arteries. The color red was the only thing she saw when she went about her work, and besides, after a while all bulging, horrified eyes and mouths that choked on last breaths looked the same anyway.
That was the great irony. In life, everyone was a snowflake of separate and beautiful proportion, but when death came in and grabbed hold, you were left with anonymous skin and muscle and bone, all of which cooled and decayed at predictable rates.
She was the gun attached to her boss's forefinger. He pulled her trigger, she shot, the body dropped, and in spite of the fact that some lives were forever changed, the sun still came up and went down the next day for everyone else on the planet, including her.
Such was the course of her jobligation, as she thought of it: half employment, half obligation for what Rehv did to protect them both.
When she returned to this place at nightfall, she would do what she was there to do and leave with a conscience as intact and secure as a bank vault.
In and out and never to be thought of again.
Such was the way and the life of an assassin.
