The Shadows

  As they filed into the vestibule, Rhage put his puss into the security camera's lens. A second later, the lock was thrown and they went into the foyer. Last Meal was getting its groove on, doggen busy bringing food into the dining room, people gathering in the archway, more members of the household coming down the stairs.

  iAm looked like he was ready to bolt, his eyes locking on the red carpet that ran up the stairs to the second floor--as if, in his mind, he was already halfway to his bedroom. Out of sight.

  No doubt fast on his way to the shower.

  Even though he'd just looked at his phone and the thing was on vibrate, Rhage took his cell out again, and rechecked to see if he'd missed anything--

  Lassiter came out of the billiards room, his blond-and-black hair braided into a thick rope that came down over his pecs. He had a Yoo-hoo box in one hand and a sleeve of Starburst in the other and enough gold on him to give his body a karat weight of its own.

  "Anyone else catch Real Housewives of New Jersey?"

  People turned and stared at the guy.

  "How are you still a guest in this house?" someone asked. "Haven't you left yet?"

  "I'll call him a cab," somebody else muttered. "Or maybe we can just airmail him off the mountain."

  "I got a potato launcher," Butch said. "Small bore, but we can force him into the thing."

  "Oh, I ain't leaving." Lassiter smiled. "Come on, like I'd miss all this great free food and cable--wait a minute." Those strange-colored glittering eyes narrowed on iAm . . . and then he shouted, "Holy shit, you got laid!"

  In the frozen silence that followed, Rhage smacked himself in the head. "Angel, your tact meter is even more broken than mine, buddy."

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  "So what's on your mind, First Adviser?"

  Abalone bowed as Wrath addressed him. "Thank you, my lord." Stepping into the audience room, he closed the sliding door behind him. "Thank you very much."

  "Must be serious for you to shut us in together," the King murmured.

  "My lord . . ." He cleared his throat. "I seek always to serve you. In all ways."

  "Stipulated. So what's doing?"

  Not for the first time, Abalone wished he could see the male's eyes. Then again, maybe it was better that those wraparounds hid so much. He preferred having proper control over his colon.

  The presences of Phury and Zsadist registered, as did the reality of the time. They had no more than five or ten minutes left before they would have to return Wrath to the compound. But this couldn't wait.

  "My lord, I appreciate your allowing Paradise to stay here. It is most generous of you--"

  "But you want her back home with you and you don't like Throe being there."

  Abalone closed his eyes. "Yes, my lord. She is . . . the separation is more difficult than I anticipated. And please know it is not that I feel she is unsafe here. She is probably more safe--"

  "I put you in a really shitty situation, didn't I," Wrath cut in. "It's not fair to ask you to play babysitter for some asshole like that at the expense of your own personal life. I apologize."

  Abalone blinked. Of all the ways he had thought this would go, Wrath expressing regret had not been even close to the list. "My lord, please, I am the one failing you--"

  "You want us to help you get him out?"

  Phury spoke up. "Rhage would volunteer for that in a heartbeat."

  "My lord, you are so--"

  Wrath ignored him and focused on the fighters. "So what's our plan here? Are you two going over there with him now and doing the evac?"

  Zsadist's eyes changed from yellow to black. "Let's do it--"

  "Wait, wait." Abalone put his palms out. "I shall speak with him."

  Wrath shook his head. "Not alone, you won't. You're too valuable to me. Tell Paradise to stay here one more night while we get the coast clear."

  And that was how, some ten minutes later, he ended up dematerializing to his home flanked by a pair of the King's personal guards.

  As he reformed in front of his Tudor's heavy front door, he looked at the glowing windows and wondered where Throe was, what he was doing--what he was finding. The staff had said the male had slept around the clock that first night, and that was not likely to happen two times in a row. Accordingly, Abalone had taken care to lock a whole lot of doors before he'd left, and there were plenty of doggen with watchful eyes around.

  Squaring his shoulders, he glanced over at the Brothers who stood on either side of him, like a set of Sun Tzu's bookends.

  "I should like to be the one to speak with him."

  Phury nodded. "It's your house. You should do the disinviting."

  Abalone opened the copper lock with his key, and he felt none of his usual comfort upon crossing the threshold, no easing as his beloved butler came forth from the parlor to take his coat.

  "Master," the doggen said, bowing deeply. "May I serve your guests as well for Last Meal?"

  "They shall not be staying. Where is Throe, may I ask?"

  "He has been in his bedroom. I have been checking--the door has been closed and he has not come down even for meals. The one time I knocked, early in the evening, he replied that he was resting."

  Abalone did not hesitate. He took to the stairs, keeping the copper key in his hand. When he reached the top, he continued forward, passing doors until he got to the second-best guest room.

  It had seemed an undeserved honor to put the male in the best guest room--even if Throe was none the wiser.

  "Throe," Abalone said sharply. "A word if I may."

  When there was no answer, he rapped on the closed panels with his knuckles--

  The door opened of its own volition, revealing a dimly lit interior. He was about to lean in when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and held him back.

  "Allow my brother," Phury said gently. "You do not know what you will find."

  Z walked in with a gun down by his thigh. A moment later, after those heavy footfalls traveled around the room, he said, "Clear."

  Abalone rushed forth. Indeed, the room was vacated--the bed had even been made. There was no sign that anyone had been there.

  Except for the slightly open window across the way.

  Verily, one of the multi-paned panels with their steel mesh overlays had been cracked and left ajar.

  "He was not a prisoner here," Abalone said as he went over and reclosed the thing. "Why escape?"

  "The more important question," Phury said, "was how can we be sure he's actually gone? This is a big house. Lots of hiding places--"

  "Maybe this will explain things." Z went over to the desk in the corner and held up a sealed envelope. "It's got your name on it."

  The Brother brought the thing over and handed it to Abalone.

  With shaking hands, Abalone opened the back flap and took out the single sheet of paper that had been folded twice. The stationery was his own, with an engraving of a line drawing of the house at the top:

  Dearest Abalone, son of Abalone,

  Forgive me for not relating my thanks to you in person. Your hospitality has been much appreciated and very generous. In recognition of the difficult position my presence must undoubtedly place upon you, I am going to seek refuge with another.

  I very much anticipate our paths crossing once again, cousin mine.

  Until then, thank you once more for opening your home to me, and until then, I remain,

  Your Blooded Relation,

  Throe

  "What does it say?" Phury asked.

  As the automatic shutters began to come down for the day, Abalone handed the letter over. "Nothing of consequence. I agree. I need to search the house, but I fear that shall take too long for you to safely return to your compound."

  "Then we'll stay the day with you," Phury said as his eyes traveled over the script. "But until we know you and your staff are all right? We're going nowhere."

  Abalone exhaled. "Blessed am I for your presence."

  Z laughed tightly. "You think we want to go
back and tell Wrath you got your throat slit because we didn't do our job? Not the kind of report I want to make to the King."

  Phury gave the letter back and put his hand on Abalone's shoulder once again. "And let us do the dirty work--it's safer for everyone that way. Where's your bedroom?"

  "Down that way."

  "Come on, we'll take you there and then get your staff secured. After that, we're going to fine-tooth-comb this house until we know there's nothing but that letter left behind."

  Abalone found himself nodding. "Thank you, sires. Thank you so very much."

  *

  "I am most pleased that you called upon me. And I am sorry that I kept you waiting."

  Throe smiled at the female addressing him and indicated the comfortable sofa he'd been sitting on since he arrived on her property. "It has been no hardship. I've been warm and dry. Already, you have been as gracious as any hostess could possibly be."

  The aristocratic female smiled, flashing teeth that were as white as the diamonds at her throat. Her wrists. Upon her fingers and earlobes. Standing just inside the modest caretaker's residence on her huge estate, she looked like a model who'd walked into the wrong photoshoot.

  "My mate is unwell," she said gravely. "I had to attend to him."

  Dressed as she was in a skintight leopard-print cocktail dress, one had to wonder exactly what kind of needs her elderly hellren had.

  Hardly the sort of thing a shellan would wear to tuck an older gentlemale into bed.

  More likely, Throe thought, she had dressed to meet him.

  "Yes, I recall he was ailing," he said smoothly. "I'm very sorry."

  "It grieves me so."

  "How could it not."

  "I shall be a widow soon."

  As he nodded in solemn sympathy, he deliberately allowed his eyes to drift down from her black straight hair to her dainty feet.

  The last time he'd seen her, it had been here, but there had been far fewer clothes involved--for both of them, as well as his fellow Bastards. She had been lying before the hearth, and he and the soldiers had swarmed over her naked flesh, feeding, fucking. That had been about a month ago, only the most recent of the sessions that had been ongoing for the previous year at regular intervals.

  "Is it only you then tonight?" she asked in a husky way.

  "Yes, and I must have you know that I am afraid we have parted ways, Xcor and myself. I'm getting out of the fighting."

  "Are you," she purred. "And where are you staying?"

  "I am between residences at this moment."

  "Really."

  "Indeed."

  She came forward, crossing the shallow room to stand within arm's reach of him. "Dawn is coming soon."

  He sent his stare down her body again. "Is it. Well, then I shall have to go."

  "So soon," she pouted.

  "'Tis only safe." Idly, he trailed his fingertips up her hip, across her lower belly . . . down to the juncture of her thighs. Pressing in through the dress, he gave her cleft a little stroke. "So I'm afraid I must end things here--"

  "Perhaps you and I may come to an arrangement," she said.

  "Oh?" he said.

  "My hellren is far older than I. He is my true love, of course."

  "Of course."

  "But because of his advancing age, there are certain needs of mine that he is not capable of fulfilling regularly."

  "I believe you are familiar with my abilities in that regard."

  The female smiled in a feral fashion. "Yes. I am."

  "And it would seem only fair that, were you to offer me room and board, you be compensated in a manner which you deem appropriate."

  The female put one of her stiletto-clad feet on the arm of the sofa and lifted the hem of her dress up to her waist, exposing her bare sex to him. "Perhaps you shall refresh my memory as to your talents first."

  Throe purred in the back of his throat and leaned into her, extending his tongue, licking his way into her slit. As her hips tilted toward him, and her head fell back, he sucked at her clit--

  And then stopped. Sat back. "I have one problem."

  "Yes?" she grunted, pulling her head back to level.

  "I cannae stay here at this cottage. Not if the Band of Bastards are going to pay you . . . homage. Surely, on an estate as large as this, there must be other accommodations available?"

  She frowned. "You are of the Bluerme bloodline, are you not?"

  "I am. Through my mahmen's people."

  "You are a distant relation of my hellren's, then, and it would therefore be rude of us not to offer you shelter. Of course, if you are going to be in the main house, we shall have to purchase you clothing."

  Throe smiled at her. It was just so perfect.

  After all, she and her mate had supported the political coup against Wrath--and there was no way they were rejoicing the King's subsequent disbanding of The Council.

  He had his in, as well as his base of operations.

  "That would be most acceptable," he said, slipping his hands around her hips and drawing her back to his mouth.

  Against her sex, he murmured, "Now, allow me to demonstrate my affection for your generous nature."

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  "I work alone," the whore was saying as she went over to her clothes. "I don't have a pimp. If you want me again, you know where to find me."

  Xcor stared across the cottage's living area, watching the female dress with an efficiency that was only a second slower than the speed of sound.

  The blonde departed without any good-bye, her duty having been discharged, his payment of two thousand dollars having been accepted. As the door shut behind her, he shifted his eyes to the dying fire. He had paid to fuck her any way and anywhere he wanted and he had done so. Repeatedly. He had also taken from her vein.

  For which the second thousand had been recompense.

  Thanks to his keen hearing, he heard her outside, walking through the leaves. And then her voice drifted through the thin walls of the structure that he had bought for another.

  "Yeah, I'm leaving now. Yeah. He was ugly, but he fucks like an animal--"

  That was the last he heard, so she must have dematerialized.

  His body was naked as he sat on the floor before the hearth, knees up, elbows plugged in, arms dangling. The sweat was cooling on his skin, his fangs still descended from the feeding, his sex flaccid and shrunken and red from the beating it had taken.

  The scent of everything he had done lingered in the air, every draw in through his nose a reminder of what his body had wrought.

  And with whom.

  Hanging his head, he rubbed at his too-long hair, numbly thinking that he should get it cut.

  Images played through his mind of him getting that female on all fours and mounting her like a dog. His balls had slapped against her sex as he took her in the ass and he had come so many times, he had left her dripping.

  He had tried to make it as dirty as possible--and he had even kissed the female. Everywhere.

  He had wanted to stain his very skin with the experience. Change his body. Alter his mind.

  Wipe the slate clean.

  Instead, as he sat on the hard floor by himself, he found that he had done the opposite. Layla was the only thing he thought of now: her lovely, shy face, those pale green eyes so smart and kind, that body of which he had had only hints. The session with the whore had merely served to dim him down, such that the illumination offered by the one he loved burned all the brighter for the contrast.

  As a strategy, this had been a total failure.

  So he would have to find another. Or try this again--yes, he would try again with another or the same or three or four. Money was scarce, but Balthazar and Zypher were so seductive, Xcor was quite sure they could successfully advocate on his behalf.

  And then there was always alcohol to help him.

  And fighting, which could be an excellent energy drain.

  What he would not do was give in to the nearly choking urge to p
hone Layla and hear her voice, and beg her to see him in spite of what he had told her.

  That would only be a further death for him.

  The Bloodletter had taught him that part of strength was the elimination of weakness, and over time, with repeated exposure to that Chosen, his emotions had castrated him: He was making choices and finding distractions in things that compromised the integrity of his warrior self.

  And somehow she had figured it all out and called him on his truth.

  Her knowledge of all he sacrificed for her had been the wake-up call, and only a fool did not abide by that kind of trailhead; he needed to alter this destination she had become for him, turn away from that untenable situation with her, proceed with alacrity back to the clarity he had once possessed.

  Because what was their future? Further clandestine meetings here? Such that eventually a Brother followed her due to some infinitesimal slip-up she made or some suspicion she was unaware of garnering for herself? His soldiers and he needed a safe place to rest and recharge during the daylight hours, and he could not compromise that.

  What had he been thinking? Bringing her here?

  He and his Bastards had not the money to move once again so soon, the lease on the property being a burden upon their meager coffers now that Throe had departed.

  At least Xcor sensed he could trust her. She had had nine months to give up the location of the meadow they had always met at, and he still knew where the Brotherhood compound was. It was a mutual detente--if she divulged this place, she had to know his next move would be to marshal a full-scale attack on the Brotherhood's sacred mansion.

  Where, if the gossip was true, the King's firstborn slept in his crib.

  No, she would say nothing--

  Bing!

  The sound of his phone going off cranked his head around. The cellular device was on the floor by the door, in the tangle of his pants.

  Jumping across the space, his hands were sloppy as they clawed through the folds, fought against the pocket's hold, got the glass-fronted plate out.

  He had heard nothing back from her concerning the message he had voice-recorded into a text.

  Entering a four-digit touch pattern on the number pad, he unlocked the device and went into the text messages. His illiteracy was so pervasive he had to use a text-to-audio translator application in order to receive communications from his soldiers and from her.

  But he knew enough to see that whatever had been received was not from the Chosen.

  He put the phone away without listening to whatever it was.