Текст книги "The Shadows"

Автор книги: J. R. Ward

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

TWENTY

IAm followed s’Ex’s instructions to the letter, waiting a good hour and a half before dematerializing from the condo at the Commodore to the outskirts of the Territory of the s’Hisbe. When he resumed form in the forest, he tracked in about three hundred yards to the river that made a curl around a granite rock formation in the shape of that human president Lincoln’s head.

He found the garb where the executioner had told him to expect it, tucked under the cleft chin of the makeshift face. As he shed his clothes and donned the traditional farshi dress of an unmated servant male from the lower classes, he was surprised to find he felt utterly vulnerable under the loose gray garment.

Of course he kept his dagger and his gun on his body: Relying on s’Ex was a had-to in this situation, but he didn’t trust the motherfucker farther than he could throw the guy.

The Territory was north of Caldwell, on the transitional lands between the peaks of the Adirondack Park and the flat area around Plattsburg. Masquerading as an artists’ colony, the two-thousand-square-acre property was bordered by a substantial concrete wall that was as tall and stout as an oak all the way around. The few humans in the communities around the parcel were long used to the presence of the “artists” and seemed to take a perverse pleasure in protecting the sanctity of the property and the “art” that was being done in their midst.

Which worked for the s’Hisbe.

The irony, of course, was that a mere twenty miles farther north, on the far side of a mountain? The symphaths had established their presence as well.

The proximity made sense. Neither subspecies was in a big hurry to fraternize with anyone else—the sin-eaters didn’t respect humans or other vampires any more than the Shadows did so the more isolated, the better. Accordingly, there had never been any envoys or diplomatic ties between the two nations. They were as separate as two strangers sitting side by side on a bus, asking nothing of each other except to be left alone.

He couldn’t believe he was going back in.

Leaving his own clothes where the ones provided had been stashed, he strode off. The leather thongs on his feet were more like gloves than shoes, and as he traveled over the rough ground cover, he felt the nuances of fallen sticks, random rocks, and uneven earth. The advantage was silence: Except for the occasional snap and pop, he was as quiet as the moonlight that fell from the heavens.

It was not long before he came up to the retaining wall. Rising high, the vast construction was streaked with dirt stains and random vines, and here and there, fallen limbs were cocked at odd angles against its flank.

He wasn’t fooled by the supposedly dilapidated appearance, however, and as he dematerialized up and over, he had forgotten how broad the thing was.

Re-forming, he took a moment to orient himself. It had been so long since he’d set foot on his people’s land, but he shouldn’t have worried that anything had changed: Unlike the face that was shown the outside world, the bulkhead on the Shadow side was pristine, the concrete pale and sun-bleached and perennially washed, not even grass blades growing out of place around its base.

And no unruly forest. Absolutely not. The trees that were permitted to grow were spaced like chess pieces on a black-and-white board, each with their own delineated spot, even the branches clipped to stay within their boundaries. The lawn was likewise kept clean as a carpet. In spite of autumn ushering in a change of color and the inevitable leaf-from-limb departures, there was not a single fragment of anything marring the rolling expanse.

iAm had often thought the Territory was like a snow globe, a constructed version of reality existing in an artificial encapsulation.

The impression still stood.

Picking up his pace, he jogged over the brown grass. Soon, the first of the settlements appeared, the housing units little more than pup tents made of wood that were painted black and roofed with tin panels that were left silver. Like the trees, the shelters were placed in orderly rows, no lights glowing inside, no smells of cooking, no talk percolating out of them. This was where the servants of the palace resided, and they used the flimsy constructions as places to sleep and fornicate only. Otherwise, they were fed, clothed, and bathed in the staff wing of the Queen’s grand enclave.

The walls to the palace appeared some distance thereafter, and they were even taller than the first barrier. Faced in white marble and polished to a high shine, they were maintained scrupulously on both sides, hand-scrubbed during the day by groundsmen on thirty-foot-high ladders.

Assuming things were still done like that. And come on, nothing changed here.

Falling in parallel to the wall, he continued along until he came to a sunken doorway marked with symbols.

Right one on the first try.

Checking his watch, he waited. Paced back and forth. Wondered where s’Ex was.

No one was around. This was the back of the palace, far from where the aristocrats and middle class lived out in the front of the Territory—then again, because of the mourning period, all citizens were expected to be indoors, on their knees, offering their respects to the night sky for the Queen’s loss.

So even a frontal approach probably would have been fine.

The plan was for the executioner to open the door and sneak him through the maze of corridors to the library. As iAm was dressed in servant garb, there would be no questions asked. s’Ex had always had free run of the palace and the staff, thanks to his position as the Queen’s primary henchman—

The blow came from the back and caught iAm on the skull, ringing his bell so hard that shit went blackout in a split second.

He wasn’t even aware of falling face-first to the ground. And there was no time to curse the fact that he’d made a mistake trusting that male or try to go for one of his weapons.

Too late.

* * *

Back at the Brotherhood mansion, Selena emerged from the underground tunnel and had to take a breather to reorient herself in the grand foyer. It seemed like a hundred years since she had last been in the grand space.

How had things ended up like this? she thought as she went around the base of the ornate staircase.

On one level, she hadn’t expected to be alive, much less mobile—or even partially mobile. On the other hand? She had gone from rushing to tell Trez how she felt about him . . . to ripping his head off, as the Brothers would put it.

“. . . First Meal the now. And following preparations, we shall . . .”

At the sound of Fritz, the butler’s, voice, she started her ascent. Her legs were weak, her muscles straining to activate joints that remained stiff and painful. In order to maintain her balance, she had to grip the gold-leafed balustrade with one and then, as she got closer to the top, both hands. Her robing, which had been cleaned at some point, seemed to weigh a hundred pounds.

A surge of relief hit her as she got to the second floor without being spotted. It wasn’t that she disliked Fritz or his staff or any of the Brotherhood; she just felt rather exposed. Part of what had helped her deal with her disease had been keeping it a secret. Then, when she was around others, she could pretend that she was just like them, with a long life expectancy, and priorities that involved normal things like work, and sleep, and food.

Now? Everyone was going to know.

There was no privacy in the mansion—and that was fine. The people were lovely and supported one another. It was just . . . it had taken her years and years to come to terms with her illness.

The others were going to catch up with her reality quick, and she did not want to be pitied.

Going over to the head of the hall of statues, she paused at the discreet door to the left. Opening it with a shaking hand, she confronted yet another set of stairs, and had to wait a moment to gather her strength.

She ended up taking them slower than the main stairs. Then again, there was less of an imperative to run and hide. The only other people who used these were the First Family, who lived in a triple-locked and insulated space that no one but Fritz was allowed access to . . . and iAm and Trez.

iAm’s bedroom door turned out to be wide-open, a lamp glowing in the far corner illuminating the tidy, empty space with its antiques and fine fabrics.

Trez’s was shut.

Selena knocked, and then put her ear to the panels. When there was no response, she knocked again.

Maybe he hadn’t come up here?

She knew he had dealings in the human world, but he’d seemed so exhausted as he’d left the clinic. It seemed only reasonable that—

“Yeah?”

Swallowing hard, she said, “It’s me.”

Long silence. So long that she wondered whether he’d cracked a window and dematerialized out of the room just to avoid her.

But eventually his voice came again: “Are you okay?”

“May I . . . ?”

“Hold on.”

A minute later the door opened, and she had to step back. He was so big . . . and so very naked—although it wasn’t like he was showing anything. He’d put a robe on, the bare, dark skin of his chest revealed in the V between the lapels.

It was impossible not to imagine what the rest of him looked like under there.

“Are you all right?” he repeated.

For some reason, she got frustrated by his concern. Which was insane. He was being polite and solicitous . . . it just made her feel like all she was was this disease inside of her.

“I, ah . . .” She glanced around. “May we do this privately?”

In lieu of answering, he moved aside and indicated the way in with his arm. After she was over the threshold, she heard the door lock click into place.

“I want to apologize.” She stopped at the windows and turned around. “I’m sorry. My emotions are raw right now, and my candor got away from me.”

Trez crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the exit. His face was inscrutable, his dark eyes grave, his brows down.

As the silence stuck around, she cleared her throat. Shifted her weight back and forth. Filled the time looking at the messy bed. The black clothes draped over the chaise longue. The shoes that had been kicked off over by the closet. The towel hanging off the top of the open door into the marble bathroom.

“So . . .” She cleared her throat. “That is what I came here to say.”

Dearest Virgin Scribe, was this it between them?

“How long?” he asked roughly.

“I’m sorry?”

“How long do you have? Until the next . . . whatever it is. When was the last one?”

Two weeks . . . or actually thirteen days. “A month ago. Maybe longer.”

His shoulders eased up. “I meant to ask that before.”

Again he went quiet.

“Trez, I really am sorry—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re just where you’re at. I’m not offended, and I’m not going to try to change your mind about how you feel.”

“You seem offended.”

“I’m not.”

“Trez—”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she snapped. And then reeled in her temper. “I’m sorry. I just . . . it’s like you’re freezing me out.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not talking to me.”

“Then why are my lips moving.”

“How is this happening again,” she muttered as she mirrored his pose, crossing her arms over her own chest. “I just want things to be . . . normal between us.”

“They are.”

“Bullshit! You’re standing over there like a statue—that’s my job, okay? I’m the one who’s supposed to be frozen. Why can’t you be real, and tell me to screw off, or that I was a bitch, or—”

“You want me to be honest?”

“Yes! Damn it.” God, she was sounding less and less like a Chosen. Cursing, using vernacular. Then again, she was feeling less and less like a Chosen. “Hello? You going to say something?”

“You sure?”

“For the love . . . look, do you just want me to go—”

“No. I want you on your back, in my bed, with your legs spread and my mouth all over you.”

Selena stopped talking. Breathing. Thinking.

He cocked an eyebrow. “That honest enough for you? Or do you want me to go back to pretending I’m not thinking about sex right now. With you.”

Okay, now she was the one being quiet. And he laughed harshly.

“Not what you had in mind, huh. I don’t blame you.” He turned the knob on the door and opened things up, repeating his “after you” gesture. “If you want to keep talking now, I suggest that you let me get dressed and meet up with you on neutral territory.”

Selena looked down at his hips. She had known his body fully only once, when he had taken her virginity, and she was well aware that he was phearsom.

Was he hard now?

“Selena?” A flash of annoyance tightened his face. “Let me meet you downstairs. In the kitchen.”

Without conscious thought, she brought her aching hands to the tie on her robe.

His eyes instantly tracked the movement.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

She pulled the knot free and let the length of silk fall loose. With every breath she took, the robe parted a little further, until a path of flesh running from her throat to her sex was exposed. Trez’s stare, that dark stare, dipped low, and all at once, the scent of him surged, filling the room with an erotic spice.

Selena eased the robe from her shoulders, letting the soft fabric drift to the floor. “Close the door, would you. I’d like some privacy.”

TWENTY-ONE

Trez’s cock had its own heartbeat. And that was before Selena went full-frontal at him. After that reveal? The damn thing had its own conscious thought pattern.

Mine.

When he heard the door shut, he wasn’t sure whether some hand of his had reclosed it, or whether he’d simply willed the thing back into place.

“You sure about this?” he growled, already taking a step toward her. “Because I won’t be able to stop.”

“Yes.” Her eyes did not rise to meet his. They stayed locked at his hips. “Oh, yes. Let me see you.”

As he came to stand right in front of her, he said, “What about all those humans I was with.”

“You’re going to bring them up now?” She took the tie to his own robe with one of her hands. “Really?”

He stopped her from getting him naked. “Nothing has changed about me.”

“That’s your hang-up, not mine.”

“In my tradition—”

“Which is not mine.”

“—I am contaminated.”

“Why are you still talking.”

With that, she shook his hold free and uncovered him, loosening the tie, pulling the folds of black fabric from his body. His sex was fully erect, jutting out between them.

And that was the next thing she put her hands on.

Trez groaned and let his head fall back on his spine.

“You’re hot,” she breathed as she leaned in and kissed the skin over his heart. “And hard.”

“Selena, I’m serious.” He fumbled to stop her before she got to stroking. “I want to honor you—”

“You’re wasting time.”

With that she got on her knees and took over. As she was a tall female, her mouth was at the perfect height, and God save them both, she put it to use, extending her pink tongue to lick at the head of him. The velvet rasp left him shaking all over, and before he went the way of the robes and hit the fucking floor, he leaned forward and braced both hands on the nearest thing he could reach.

The bureau. Or it could have been the hood of a car. Santa’s sleigh. A refrigerator.

Warm and wet, she drew him in, the suction and all the slick wiping out the world, bringing him instantly to the brink.

Gritting his teeth, he groaned, “I’m going to come—oh, fuck, I’m going to—”

He had some thought that he didn’t want to disrespect her by orgasming in her—

Selena eased back, opened her mouth, and extended that magic tongue. Looking up at him, she started to pump hard at the same time she lazily licked at his tip.

Trez lasted, oh, maybe a second and a half. And as his release kicked out of him, she took it all, swallowing, sucking, easing back so he could cover her lips and her face. God help her, he kept orgasming, an endless sexual urge locking onto his body as he marked her, his scent blanketing her in an ownership that was primordial.

Defend. Protect. Love.

All of it was in this sacred space.

Mine.

When he finally stilled, she sat back on her heels and then, with a series of kill-me-slow moves, she licked around her mouth. Brought up her fingers, captured the slick trail on her chin, and sucked things clean. Looked down at her perfect breasts.

Cupping the full weights, she smiled at what had dripped down, making the swells and those tight nipples of hers glisten. “You got me messy.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?” he choked out.

At least that was what he’d meant to say. The syllables came out a jumble of incoherent sound.

“What was that?” she whispered, before lifting one of her breasts up and bending her tongue down.

She lapped at herself.

The growl that came out of Trez’s mouth was something that, if he were her, he would have been afraid of.

Selena wasn’t. She just laughed throatily. “Is there something else you wish to mark?”

* * *

Freedom.

As Selena sat on her knees in front of Trez, with his taste in her mouth and his scent all over her skin, she reveled in the sense of sexual freedom that had overtaken her. The liberation seemed entirely at odds with the death sentence that she lived under, and yet her lack of time was what spared her any awkwardness or self-conscious worry. She was flying above the constraints that had long pinned her to the ground, her training as an ehros letting her soar on the currents of sex that ran, thick as tangible ropes, between their bodies.

With no idea how long she had, and under such frustration that she had wasted so much time, she was urgent in her personal expression, embracing any desires she had and acting on them.

All of which were with Trez.

And as if he were feeling the same, he leaned down and lifted her from the floor. Her joints protested at the change of position, but the complaints were nothing except murmurs against the roughshod lust she had for him.

She needed the penetration. By his body.

Trez took her over to the bed and laid her out on her stomach, his big, warm hands stroking her from shoulder blade to back of the thigh before lifting her up onto all fours and spreading her knees. Ducking her head, she wanted to see him—and she looked past the heavy, hanging swells of her breasts, watching him come up behind her, his sex bobbing as he moved into position to—

It was not his erection that brushed against her.

As his hands went to her hips, his thumbs dug into her butt and pulled away, until her sex split wider for him. And then he went in with his mouth, his lips finding her, stroking wet on wet, sucking, eating. With total domination, his tongue licked up and down, penetrated, flicked at the top of her sex until she jerked her way into an orgasm, each kick of pleasure pushing her into his face.

When he was finally finished, he jacked up, his fists punching into the sheets on either side of her.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he gritted out in her ear.

“Oh, God, please—”

Selena shouted loudly as he jabbed into her, stretching the inside of her nearly to the breaking point. The pain was the perfect bite—and then he started to pump. There was no slow-and-steady windup; hard, pistoning power made her see stars until she lost the strength to hold her upper body off the bed. Collapsing face-first into sheets that smelled of him, she struggled for breath and loved the suffocation as each thrust shoved her face-first into the pillows.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The headboard was having the same rough ride she was, nailing into the wall, the sound reverberating along with a grunting from him that was all animal.

Craning her head around her shoulder, she strained to see him.

Trez was magnificent, his pectorals and shoulders seized up, his huge arms carved in muscle, his abdominals ribbed as his hips punched at her. As he orgasmed, his head fell back as it had when she had first taken hold of him, and he howled, his bright white fangs flashing long and deadly, his neck cording up on both sides, his hips slamming into her and locking in as he pumped, pumped, pumped. . . .

He filled her up.

And her sex milked him, urging him on until she felt the wetness on the inside of her thighs.

He didn’t so much disengage as fall over to the side, as if every ounce of strength had been spent from him. The headboard let out one last bam! as he landed and bounced, his hands and arms, his torso and legs going loose from all that straining effort.

His mouth moved, his dark eyes meeting hers and staying there.

She had no clue what he was saying to her. She didn’t care. Her ass was still up in the air, her sex humming from the hard use, her body as satiated as his looked. Air currents, from the vent above, drifted down from the ceiling, brushing against everything that was exposed, tickling, cooling.

That had been the sex of her life. Hard and raw, the way she had been told and trained it could and should be.

Before Selena allowed herself to lie to the side and slip into her own sleep, she smiled so widely her cheeks hurt.

She had been, for the first time in her life, not just well and truly fucked, but marked by the male she loved.

Even with the future she had to face, it was hard not to feel blessed.