"Not right now." She closed her eyes and a few moments later fell asleep.
Jamys pulled the sheet over her before he left the room. On his way down to the first floor, he noticed the other residents of the Haven moving out of his way as he walked down the hall. In varying degrees, every boy or girl showed some fear of him. But why? Jamys was sure he'd done nothing to create such wariness.
At the bottom of the stairs he saw a man sitting with the large-headed girl who always smelted like a well-used privy. He had dark hair, so he wasn't Hurley, the man whom Jamys had met his first night at the shelter. He started toward him until the man turned his face and Jamys saw his profile.
It was John Keller.
Jamys turned quickly away before the priest saw his face. Alexandra's brother had been used by the Brethren to find and attack Cyprien. What was he doing here? He couldn't risk staying and finding out. There might be Brethren watching the Haven, or working here. Wherever John was, they were sure to come.
"Hey." John was looking at him and standing. "Wait."
Jamys ran.
Chapter 11
Alexandra Keller had often entertained fantasies of killing Michael Cyprien. Not unusual, considering the fact that he had almost killed her once and, in fact, had killed her after declaring his love for her. Well, perhaps not technically—she was still alive, or as alive as one could be in a highly mutated inhuman state—but it was close enough.
Michael had brought her to Chicago to help her find two of her Darkyn patients, so when he had vetoed the idea of letting her join the hunt for Thierry and Jamys, that had ticked her off. Hustling her off to the executive bedroom Jaus had provided for them hadn't resulted in sex, something that might have distracted her, and for that she was grateful. She hated it when Michael tried to railroad her. Instead, she'd almost been ready to kick back and let the boys handle things when he dropped the bombshell about her brother John.
He hadn't minced around the words, either. "The high lord holds your brother responsible for the Brethren infiltrating New Orleans," Michael said. "He has ordered me to kill him."
"Excuse me?" She was sure he'd just said…"Was that kill my brother?"
"John was seen meeting with a known Brethren operative a few days ago," he told her. "Tremayne is angry over the exposure." He caught her arm as she went to the door. "Do you remember what Tremayne did the last time you saw him angry?"
Alex had seen the high lord angry exactly one time, in the church in New Orleans where the Brethren had tried to kill her, Michael, and a lot of other Darkyn. Tremayne had removed the mask he wore and had beheaded a former Catholic cardinal.
"Yeah." The image of the high lord's face was permanently etched on her brain cells. "I remember."
"Alex, look at me."
It was amazing how furious she could be with Michael and not attack him with a blunt instrument. Well, there were all those hours she'd put into rebuilding his face; she hated the idea of ruining her best work. Although this might do it: choosing between the brother she'd worshiped and now despised, or the lover she'd despised and now worshiped. "What?"
"I am not going to kill John."
All the strength went out of her legs. She'd been so sure—John, Michael, and Tremayne formed an ugly triangle—but there… there was the truth in his eyes. He meant what he said.
"Thank you." She staggered over to sit down on the bed. Jaus had given them what appeared to be the honeymoon suite; it was all white. Or maybe it was the room for crazy vampires. She certainly felt like straitjacket material. "I really appreciate you not killing my brother."
He came and sat beside her. "We will work it out, Alexandra. I swear it."
"That's good." She rested her head on his shoulder. "In case you change your mind, if you touch one hair on his head, I'll cut yours off."
"I know you will." He pushed her back onto the bed and rolled on top of her.
"Hang on." She stared up at him. "You tell me the king of pain has ordered you to waste John, you scare the living shit out of me for the ten seconds I'm thinking you're going to do it, and now you want sex?"
"I wanted you before that." He smoothed her chestnut curls back from her face. "I wanted you in the kitchen, on the table where you were working on Sacher. I wanted you in the car on the way from the airport." He bent down and bit her chin. "I wanted you in the plane—"
"You had me in the plane," she reminded him. "Twice."
"I wanted you three times. I want you all the time, day and night, here and now, everywhere." He rested his forehead against hers. "I want to wear you on me."
"Like a bull's-eye?" She didn't want to smile, but her lips weren't cooperating.
His hands tugged at her clothes. "Like my skin."
Making love with Michael had been a revelation for Alex. She'd enjoyed men since she'd gotten rid of her virginity in high school, but medicine had been the only lover she'd been faithful to. Sex had usually been a relaxing romp to release tension, but it had never been a priority.
Until Michael, who only had to look at her to make her wet, and make her feel as if she might weep. "I love you."
He drew back a little and gave her a hello-stranger look, as if seeing her clearly for the first time.
"What are you to me?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, deeper register.
Those words. Everything became clear to her, the things she hadn't understood, the nameless worries that she'd shoved aside because he'd needed her more than she'd needed reassurance. There was so much she loved about him: his long body, the beauty of his hands, the way being close to him made every inch of her skin hum. How his scent changed subtly when he wanted her, roses and wine and sun-warmed sheets. But she didn't know him, and most of the time she still didn't trust him.
"I don't know," she heard herself say, just as quiet and low. "We'll find out."
He muttered something indistinct and attacked her mouth.
There were moments that night when Alex thought Michael Cyprien might kill her. Something had changed; something that he had held back from her before. She knew because there was a lot she had in reserve.
He could do the sweet romance-novel stuff, but he didn't try to sweep her away in a wave of passion. He came at her like an avalanche and fucked her brains out. Up, down, sideways, with her on her knees, then straddling his face, then bent over and holding on to whatever she could grab. Once, when he was hammering inside her, she turned around and bit him, drawing blood. He yanked her head back and returned the favor.
It was hard to tell who did the most damage. Cyprien healed too fast, and she wasn't interested in looking at herself.
By dawn they were both exhausted, hungry, and huddled together, a couple of boxers in the fifteenth round. She lifted her head from his neck and saw love in his eyes. Love, and helplessness.
She knew she had to let him in sooner or later. Sooner had just arrived.
"When I was ten, John started getting religious on me." The words were going to come out of her whether she liked it or not. She looked up at the canopy they'd torn sometime during the night. Streamers of shredded white netting swayed faintly in the stream of air from the supply duct. "Mom thought it was great, because she had pretty much figured out by then that I wasn't going to be a nun."
"Souer Alexandra." Cyprien shook his head.
"Yeah, right?" A laugh escaped her. "Anyway, for Christmas Mom bought Johnny this expensive stereo and all these tapes of religious music. She got a really good set of headphones for him, too, so he could listen to it whenever he wanted. I think she was afraid he'd get into the Sex Pistols or something if she didn't do the parental-guidance thing. And John loved it. He'd sit in his room with the headphones on and listen to those tapes all night. Instead of telling me bedtime stories."
Michael trailed his fingers over the bruises that were disappearing from her breast. "Were you jealous of his music, or his faith?"
"Both. I wasn't allowed to touch his stereo, so I was pretty green about that. He started chasing me out of his room, or locking the door to keep me out. Now I know he was probably shaking down the suspect"—she saw Cyprien frown—"that means masturbating—but I didn't get that talk for another four years, so I didn't understand."
"You thought he didn't love you anymore." He tucked her against him.
"Bingo. One night I had a bad dream and went to his room. Even then, I'd always go to him when I was frightened. I liked the Kellers and all, but Johnny was the one who killed the monsters who lived under my bed." Her lips twisted. "He had his headphones on, but he must have seen how upset I was, because for once he didn't chase me out. He let me sit next to the stereo, and he even put the headphones on me. The tape he was listening to was a recording of Jesus Christ Superstar on Broadway. Have you ever heard it?"
He nodded.
"I listened to these strong, amazing voices singing this stupid Bible story that I never liked. I always thought Jesus should have kicked ass instead of letting himself get nailed to the cross. But listening to that tape, hearing the story, in words I could finally understand, I got it." She swallowed. "Then the tape played the scene where Jesus is whipped. It was horrible. It sounded so real I thought they were really doing it—really whipping someone. I know I was crying halfway through it, but John didn't turn off the tape. He just picked me up and held me on his lap. And he made me listen. I didn't understand why he did that, either. Not for a long time."
"Alexandra." Cyprien brushed away a tear clinging to her lashes.
She looked at him. "My brother is a jackass. I can't stand to be in the same room with him. I will die before I let anyone hurt him."
"Then he is safe, mon amour," Michael told her, "because I will kill anyone who tries to touch you."
